The book of saints and friendly beasts

I f

cfAINFidFRlENDDf
MASTS

®

\\

^w

mm.

'i^Ml

Hil^'i^

pill

JE^H

1

'1 1

ill

Hj

1

mil

n|

¥4

Wl

fKL^^j, m

"^ ji

I

-M^

^
&

* 1

^^::;:-"

:-:A,-#*.

>«^

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2007 with funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

http://www.archive.org/details/bookofsaintsfrieOObrow

^p ^mt JFartoell Proton

THE STAR JEWELS AND OTHER WON-
DERS. Illustrated. Square 12010, ^i.oo.

THE FLOWER PRINCESS. Illustrated. Sq.
i2mo, $1.00.

THE CURIOUS BOOK OF BIRDS. Illus-
trated. Square i2mo, $1.10, net. Postpaid,
$1.21.

A POCKETFUL OF POSIES. Illustrated.
i2mo, j5i.oo, nei. Postpaid, $1.09.

IN THE DAYS OF GIANTS. Illustrated. i2mo,
$1.10, net. Postpaid, ^1.21. School edition,
50 cents, net, postpaid.

THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND FRIENDLY
BEASTS. Illustrated. i2mo, $1.25.

THE LONESOMEST DOLL. Illustrated. Sq.
i2mo, 85 cents, net. Postpaid, 95 cents.

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston and New York

THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND
FRIENDLY BEASTS

ST. BRIDGET & THE KING'S WOLF

t THE BOOK OF SAINTS
AND FRIENDLY BEASTS
BY ABBIE FARWELL
BROWN. ILLUSTRATED
BY FANNY Y. CORY 1 1

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND CO.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT 1900 BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN, ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

IN LOVING MEMORY OF A
FRIENDLY BEAST

BROTHER, HAST THOU NEVER LEARNED IN
HOLY WRIT, THAT WITH HIM WHO HAS
LED HIS LIFE AFTER GOD's WILL THE WILD
BEASTS AND WILD BIRDS ARE TAME?

SAINT GUTHLAC OF CROWLAND

IN the old legends there may be things
which some folk nowadays jind it hard
to believe. But surely the theme of
each is true. It is not hard to see how
gentle bodies who had no other friends should
make comrades of the little folk in fur and
fins and feathers. For, as St. Francis
knew so well, all the creatures are our little
brothers, ready to meet halfway those who
will but try to understand. And this is a
truth which every one to-day, even thd he
be no Saint, is waking up to learn. The
happenings are set down quite as they read
in the old books. Veritable histories, like
those of St. Francis and St. Cuthbert, ask
no addition of color to make them real. But
sometimes, when a mere line of legend re-
7nained to hint of some dear Sainfs relation
with his friendly Beast, the story has been
filed out in the way that seemed most likely
to be true. For so alone could the old tale
be made alive again. So all one' s best is
dressing old words new.

CONTENTS t t t

PAGE

Saint Bridget and the King's Wolf i

^Saint Gerasimus and the Lion 1 1

Saint Keneth of the Gulls 30

Saint Launomar's Cow 42

Saint Werburgh and her Goose ^1^

The Ballad of Saint Athracta's Stags 69

Saint Kentigern and the Robin 77

Saint Blaise and his Beasts 8 8

Saint Cuthbert's Peace 95

The Ballad of Saint FeUx 108

Saint Fronto's Camels 1 14

The Blind Singer, Saint Herve 126

Saint Comgall and the Mice 148

The Wonders of Saint Berach 156

Saint Prisca, the Child Martyr 166

The Fish who helped Saint Gudwall 176
The Ballad of Saint Giles and the Deer 1 83

The Wolf-Mother of Saint Ailbe 1 90

Saint Rigobert's Dinner 199

Saint Francis of Assisi 211

A Calendar of Saints' Days 226

The legend of Saint Fronto's Camels originally
appeared in The Churchman.

THE BOOK OF SAINTS AND
FRIENDLY BEASTS

SAINT BRIDGET AND
THE KING'S WOLF t t

EVERY one has heard of Bridget, the
Kttle girl saint of Ireland. Her name
is almost as well known as that of
Saint Patrick, who drove all the snakes from
the Island. Saint Bridget had long golden
hair; and she was very beautiful. Many-
wonderful things happened to her that are
written in famous books. But I suspect that
you never heard what she did about the
King's Wolf It is a queer story.

This is how it happened. The King of
Ireland had a tame wolf which some hunters
had caught for him when it was a wee baby.
And this wolf ran around as it pleased in the
King's park near the palace, and had a very
good time. But one morning he got over
the high wall which surrounded the park,
and strayed a long distance from home, which
was a foolish thing to do. For in those days
wild wolves were hated and feared by the
people, whose cattle they often stole ; and if
a man could kill a wicked wolf he thought
himself a very smart fellow indeed. More-

2 SAINT BRIDGET AND

over, the King himself had offered a prize to
any man who should bring him a dead wolf.
For he wanted his kingdom to be a peaceful,
happy one, where the children could play in
the woods all day without fear of big eyes or
big teeth.

Of course you can guess what happened
to the King's wolf? A big, silly country
fellow was going along with his bow and
arrows, when he saw a great brown beast
leap over a hedge and dash into the meadow
beyond. It was only the King's wolf running
away from home and feeling very frisky be-
cause it was the first time that he had done
such a thing. But the country fellow did not
know all that.

"Aha!" he said to himself "I'll soon
have you, my fine wolf; and the King will
give me a gold piece that will buy me a hat
and a new suit of clothes for the holidays."
And without stopping to think about it or
to look closely at the wolf, who had the
King's mark upon his ear, the fellow shot his
arrow straight as a string. The King's wolf
gave one great leap into the air and then fell
dead on the grass, poor fellow.

THE KING'S WOLF 3

The countryman was much pleased. He
dragged his prize straight up to the King's
palace and thumped on the gate.

" Open ! " he cried. " Open to the valiant
hunter who has shot a wolf for the King.
Open, that I may go in to receive the re-
ward."

So, very respectfully, they bade him enter ;
and the Lord Chamberlain escorted him be-
fore the King himself, who sat on a great red-
velvet throne in the Hall. In came the fellow,
dragging after him by the tail the limp body
of the King's wolf

" What have we here ^ " growled the
King, as the Lord Chamberlain made a low
bow and pointed with his staff to the stranger.
The King had a bad temper and did not like
to receive callers in the morning. But the
silly countryman was too vain of his great
deed to notice the King's disagreeable frown.

"You have here a wolf. Sire," he said
proudly. " I have shot for you a wolf, and I
come to claim the promised reward."

But at this unlucky moment the King
started up with an angry cry. He had noticed
his mark on the wolf's right ear.

4 SAINT BRIDGET AND

" Ho ! Seize the villain I " he shouted to
his soldiers. " He has slain my tame wolf;
he has shot my pet I Away with him to
prison; and to-morrow he dies."

It was useless for the poor man to scream
and cry and try to explain that it was all a
mistake. The King was furious. His wolf
was killed, and the murderer must die.

In those days this was the way kings
punished men who displeased them in any
way. There were no delays ; things happened
very quickly. So they dragged the poor fel-
low off to a dark, damp dungeon and left him
there howling and tearing his hair, wishing
that wolves had never been saved from the
flood by Noah and his Ark.

Now not far from this place little Saint
Bridget lived. When she chose the beautiful
spot for her home there were no houses near,
only a great oak-tree, under which she built
her little hut. It had but one room and the
roof was covered with grass and straw. It
seemed almost like a doll's playhouse, it was
so small ; and Bridget herself was like a big,
golden-haired wax doll, — the prettiest doll
you ever saw.

THE KING'S WOLF 5

She was so beautiful and so good that
people wanted to live near her, where they
could see her sweet face often and hear her
voice. When they found where she had
built her cell, men came flocking from all
the country round about with their wives
and children and their household goods, their
cows and pigs and chickens; and camping
on the green grass under the great oak-tree
they said, "We will live here, too, where
Saint Bridget is."

So house after house was built, and a vil-
lage grew up about her little cell; and for a
name it had Kildare, which in Irish means
" Cell of the Oak." Soon Kildare became so
fashionable that even the King must have a
palace and a park there. And it was in this
park that the King's wolf had been killed.

Now Bridget knew the man who had
shot the wolf, and when she heard into what
terrible trouble he had fallen she was very
sorry, for she was a kind-hearted little girl.
She knew he was a silly fellow to shoot the
tame wolf; but still it was all a mistake, and
she thought he ought not to be punished so
severely. She wished that she could do some-

6 SAINT BRIDGET AND

thing to help him, to save him if possible.
But this seemed difficult, for she knew what
a bad temper the King had; and she also
knew how proud he had been of that w^olf,
who was the only tame one in all the land.

Bridget called for her coachman with her
chariot and pair of white horses, and started
for the King's palace, wondering what she
should do to satisfy the King and make him
release the man who had meant to do no
harm.

But lo and behold I as the horses galloped
along over the Irish bogs of peat, Saint Brid-
get saw a great white shape racing towards
her. At first she thought it was a dog. But
no: no dog was as large as that. She soon
saw that it w^as a wolf, with big eyes and
with a red tongue lolling out of his mouth.
At last he overtook the frightened horses,
and with a flying leap came plump into the
chariot where Bridget sat, and crouched at
her feet, quietly as a dog w^ould. He was no
tame wolf, but a wild one, who had never
before felt a human being's hand upon him.
Yet he let Bridget pat and stroke him, and
say nice things into his great ear. And he

THE KING'S WOLF 7

kept perfectly still by her side until the char-
iot rumbled up to the gate of the palace.

Then Bridget held out her hand and called
to him ; and the great white beast followed
her quietly through the gate and up the stair
and down the long hall, until they stood be-
fore the red-velvet throne, where the King sat
looking stern and sulky.

They must have been a strange-looking
pair, the little maiden in her green gown with
her golden hair falling like a shower down to
her knees; and the huge white wolf standing
up almost as tall as she, his yellow eyes glar-
ing fiercely about, and his red tongue panting.
Bridget laid her hand gently on the beast's
head which was close to her shoulder, and
bowed to the King. The King only sat and
stared, he was so surprised at the sight ; but
Bridget took that as a permission to speak.

" You have lost your tame wolf, O King,"
she said. " But I have brought you a better.
There is no other tame wolf in all the land,
now yours is dead. But look at this one I
There is no white wolf to be found anywhere,
and he is both tame and white. I have tamed
him, my King. I, a little maiden, have tamed

8 SAINT BRIDGET AND

him so that he is gentle as you see. Look, I
can pull his big ears and he will not snarl.
Look, I can put my little hand into his great
red mouth, and he will not bite. Sire, I give
him to you. Spare me then the life of the
poor, silly man who unwittingly killed your
beast. Give his stupid life to me in exchange
for this dear, amiable wolf," and she smiled
pleadingly.

The King sat staring first at the great
white beast, wonderfully pleased with the
look of him, then at the beautiful maiden
whose blue eyes looked so wistfully at him.
And he was wonderfully pleased with the look
of them, too. Then he bade her tell him the
whole story, how she had come by the crea-
ture, and when, and where. Now when she
had finished he first whistled in surprise, then
he laughed. That was a good sign, — he
was wonderfully pleased with Saint Bridget's
story, also. It was so strange a thing for the
King to laugh in the morning that the Cham-
berlain nearly fainted from surprise; and
Bridget felt sure that she had won her prayer.
Never had the King been seen in such a
good humor. For he was a vain man, and it

THE KING'S WOLF 9

pleased him mightily to think of owning all
for himself this huge beast, whose like was
not in all the land, and whose story was so
marvelous.

And when Bridget looked at him so be-
seechingly, he could not refuse those sweet
blue eyes the request which they made, for
fear of seeing them fill with tears. So, as
Bridget begged, he pardoned the country-
man, and gave his life to Bridget, ordering
his soldiers to set him free from prison. Then
when she had thanked the King very sweetly,
she bade the wolf lie down beside the red-
velvet throne, and thenceforth be faithful and
kind to his new master. And with one last
pat upon his shaggy head, she left the wolf
and hurried out to take away the silly coun-
tryman in her chariot, before the King should
have time to change his mind.

The man was very happy and grateful.
But she gave him a stern lecture on the way
home, advising him not to be so hasty and so
wasty next time.

" Sirrah Stupid," she said as she set him
down by his cottage gate, " better not kill at
all than take the lives of poor tame creatures.

lo SAINT BRIDGET

I have saved your life this once, but next
time you will have to suffer. Remember, it
is better that two wicked wolves escape than
that one kind beast be killed. We cannot
afford to lose our friendly beasts. Master
Stupid. We can better afford to lose a blun-
dering fellow like you." And she drove away
to her cell under the oak, leaving the silly man
to think over what she had said, and to feel
much ashamed.

But the King's new wolf lived happily
ever after in the palace park; and Bridget
came often to see him, so that he had no
time to grow homesick or lonesome.

SAINT GERASIMUS AND

THE LION t t t t t t
I.

ONE fine morning Saint Gerasimus
was walking briskly along the bank
of the River Jordan. By his side
plodded a little donkey bearing on his back
an earthen jar ; for they had been down to the
river together to get water, and were taking
it back to the monastery on the hill for the
monks to drink at their noonday meal.

Gerasimus was singing merrily, touching
the stupid little donkey now and then with
a twig of olive leaves to keep him from go-
ing to sleep. This was in the far East, in the
Holy Land, so the sky was very blue and the
ground smelled hot. Birds were singing
around them in the trees and overhead, all
kinds of strange and beautiful birds. But
suddenly Gerasimus heard a sound unlike
any bird he had ever known ; a sound which
was not a bird's song at all, unless some
newly invented kind had a bass voice which
ended in a howl. The little donkey stopped
suddenly, and bracing his fore legs and cock-

12 SAINT GERASIMUS

ing forward his long, flappy ears, looked afraid
and foolish. Gerasimus stopped too. But he
was so wise a man that he could not look fool-
ish. And he was too good a man to be afraid
of anything. Still, he was a little surprised.

"Dear me," he said aloud, "how very
strange that sounded. What do you suppose
it was '? " Now there was no one else any-
where near, so he must have been talking to
himself For he could never have expected
that donkey to know anything about it. But
the donkey thought he was being spoken to,
so he wagged his head, and said, " He-haw ! "
which was a very silly answer indeed, and did
not help Gerasimus at all.

He seized the donkey by the halter and
waited to see what would happen. He
peered up and down and around and about,
but there was nothing to be seen except the
shining river, the yellow sand, a clump of
bushes beside the road, and the spire of the
monastery peeping over the top of the hill
beyond. He was about to start the donkey
once more on his climb towards home, when
that sound came again; and this time he
noticed that it was a sad sound, a sort of

AND THE LION 13

whining growl ending in a sob. It sounded
nearer than before, and seemed to come from
the clump of bushes. Gerasimus and the
donkey turned their heads quickly in that
direction, and the donkey trembled all over,
he was so frightened. But his master only
said, " It must be a Lion I "

And sure enough : he had hardly spoken
the word when out of the bushes came pok-
ing the great head and yellow eyes of a lion.
He was looking straight at Gerasimus. Then,
giving that cry again, he bounded out and
strode towards the good man, who was hold-
ing the donkey tight to keep him from run-
ning away. He was the biggest kind of a
lion, much bigger than the donkey, and his
mane was long and thick, and his tail had a
yellow brush on the end as large as a win-
dow mop. But as he came Gerasimus noticed
that he limped as if he were lame. At once
the Saint was filled with pity, for he could not
bear to see any creature suffer. And without
any thought of fear, he went forward to meet
the lion. Instead of pouncing upon him
fiercely, or snarling, or making ready to eat
him up, the lion crouched whining at his feet

14 SAINT GERASIMUS

** Poor fellow," said Gerasimus, " what
hurts you and makes you lame, brother
Lion?"

The lion shook his yellow mane and
roared. But his eyes were not fierce; they
were only full of pain as they looked up into
those of Gerasimus asking for help. And
then he held up his right fore paw and shook
it to show that this was where the trouble
lay. Gerasimus looked at him kindly.

" Lie down, sir," he said just as one would
speak to a big yellow dog. And obediently
the lion charged. Then the good man bent
over him, and taking the great paw in his
hand examined it carefully. In the soft
cushion of the paw a long pointed thorn
was piercing so deeply that he could hardly
find the end. No wonder the poor lion had
roared with pain ! Gerasimus pulled out the
thorn as gently as he could, and though it
must have hurt the lion badly he did not
make a sound, but lay still as he had been
told. And when the thorn was taken out the
lion licked Gerasimus' hand, and looked up
in his face as if he would say, " Thank you,
kind man. I shall not forget."

AND THE LION 15

Now when the Saint had finished this
good deed he went back to his donkey and
started on towards the monastery. But hear-
ing the soft pad of steps behind him he turned
and saw that the great yellow lion was fol-
lowing close at his heels. At first he was
somewhat embarrassed, for he did not know
how the other monks would receive this big
stranger. But it did not seem polite or kind
to drive him away, especially as he was still
somewhat lame. So Gerasimus took up his
switch of olive leaves and drove the donkey
on without a word, thinking that perhaps the
lion would grow tired and drop behind. But
when he glanced over his shoulder he still
saw the yellow head close at his elbow ; and
sometimes he felt the hot, rough tongue lick-
ing his hand that hung at his side.

So they climbed the hill to the monastery.
Some one had seen Gerasimus coming with
this strange attendant at his heels, and the
windows and doors were crowded with monks,
their mouths and eyes wide open with aston-
ishment, peering over one another's shoulders.
From every corner of the monastery they had
run to see the sight ; but they were all on

1 6 SAINT GERASIMUS

tiptoe to run back again twice as quickly if
the lion should roar or lash his tail. Now
although Gerasimus knew that the house was
full of staring eyes expecting every minute
to see him eaten up, he did not hurry or
worry at all. Leisurely he unloaded the water-
jar and put the donkey in his stable, the lion
following him everywhere he went. When
all was finished he turned to bid the beast
good-by. But instead of taking the hint and
departing as he was expected to, the lion
crouched at Gerasimus' feet and licked his
sandals ; and then he looked up in the Saint's
face and pawed at his coarse gown pleadingly,
as if he said, " Good man, I love you be-
cause you took the thorn out of my foot.
Let me stay with you always to be your
watch-dog." And Gerasimus understood.

" Well, if you wish to stay I am willing,
so long as you are good," he said, and the
lion leaped up and roared with joy so loudly
that all the monks who were watching tum-
bled over one another and ran away to their
cells in a terrible fright, locking the doors
behind them.

Gerasimus carried the water-jar into the

AND THE LION 17

empty kitchen, and the hon followed. After
sniffing about the place to get acquainted,
just as a kitten does in its new home, the lion
lay down in front of the fire and curled his
head up on his paws, like the great big cat
he was. And so after a long sigh he went to
sleep. Then Gerasimus had a chance to tell
the other monks all about it. At first they
were timid and would not hear of keeping
such a dangerous pet. But when they had
all tiptoed down to the kitchen behind Ge-
rasimus and had seen the big kitten asleep
there so peacefully they were not quite so
much afraid.

" I '11 tell you what we will do," said the
Abbot. " If Brother Gerasimus can make his
friend eat porridge and herbs like the rest of
us we will let him join our number. He
might be very useful, — as well as ornamen-
tal, — in keeping away burglars and mice.
But we cannot have any flesh-eating creature
among us. Some of us are too fat and tempt-
ing, I fear," and he glanced at several of the
roundest monks, who shuddered in their tight
gowns. But the Abbot himself was the fattest
of them all, and he spoke with feeling.

1 8 SAINT GERASIMUS

So it was decided. Gerasimus let the lion
sleep a good long nap, to put him in a fine
humor. But when it came time for supper
he mixed a bowl of porridge and milk and
filled a big wooden platter with boiled greens.
Then taking one dish in each hand he went
up to the lion and set them in front of his
nose.

" Leo, Leo, Leo I " he called coaxingly,
just as a little girl would call " Kitty, Kitty,
Kitty ! " to her pet. The lion lifted up his
head and purred, like a small furnace, for he
recognized his friend's voice. But when he
smelled the dishes of food he sniffed and
made a horrid face, wrinkling up his nose
and saying " Ugh ! " He did not like the
stuff at all. But Gerasimus patted him on
the head and said, "You had better eat it,
Leo ; it is all I have myself Share and share
alike, brother."

The lion looked at him earnestly, and
then dipped his nose into the porridge with
a grunt. He ate it all, and found it not so
very bad. So next he tried the greens. They
were a poor dessert, he thought; but since
he saw that Gerasimus wanted him to eat

AND THE LION 19

them he finished the dish, and then lay down
on the hearth feehng very tired.

Gerasimus was delighted, for he had grown
fond of the lion and wanted to keep him.
So he hurried back to the dining hall and
showed the empty dishes to the Abbot. That
settled the lion's fate. Thenceforth he became
a member of the monastery. He ate with the
other monks in the great hall, having his own
private trencher and bowl beside Gerasimus.
And he grew to like the mild fare of the
good brothers, — at least he never sought for
anything different. He slept outside the door
of his master's cell and guarded the monastery
like a faithful watch-dog. The monks grew
fond of him and petted him so that he lived
a happy life on the hill, with never a wish to
go back to the desert with its thorns.

II.

WHEREVER Gerasimus went the
lion went also. Best of all, Leo
enjoyed their daily duty of draw-
ing water from the river. For that meant a
long walk in the open air, and a frolic on the

20 SAINT GERASIMUS

bank of the Jordan. One day they had gone
as usual, Gerasimus, the Hon, and the stupid
donkey who was carrying the filled jar on his
back. They were jogging comfortably home,
when a poor man came running out of a tiny
hut near the river, who begged Gerasimus to
come with him and try to cure his sick baby.
Of course the good man willingly agreed ;
this was one of the errands which he loved
best to do.

" Stay, brother," he commanded Leo, who
wanted to go with him, " stay and watch the
foolish donkey." And he went with the man,
feeling sure that the lion would be faithful.
Now Leo meant to do his duty, but it was
a hot and sleepy day, and he was very tired.
He lay down beside the donkey and kept
one eye upon him, closing the other one just
for a minute. But this is a dangerous thing
to do. Before he knew it, the other eye be-
gan to wink; and the next moment Leo
was sound asleep, snoring with his head on
his paws. Then it was that the silly donkey
began to grow restless. He saw a patch
of grass just beyond that looked tempting,
and he moved over to it. Then he saw a

AND THE LION 21

greener spot beyond that, and then another
still farther beyond that, till he had taken his
silly self a long way off. And just then there
came along on his way from Dan to Beersheba,
a thief of a Camel Driver, with a band of
horses and asses. He saw the donkey grazing
there with no one near, and he said to him-
self,—

"Aha! A fine little donkey. I will add
him to my caravan and no one will be the
wiser." And seizing Silly by the halter, he
first cut away the water-jar, and then rode off
with him as fast as he could gallop.

Now the sound of pattering feet wakened
Leo. He jumped up with a roar just in time
to see the Camel Driver's face as he glanced
back from the top of the next hill. Leo ran
wildly about sniffing for the donkey; but
when he found that he had really disappeared,
he knew the Camel Driver must have stolen
him. He was terribly angry. He stood by
the water-jar and roared and lashed his tail,
gnashing his jaws as he remembered the thief's
wicked face.

Now in the midst of his rage out came
Gerasimus. He found Leo roaring and foam*

22 SAINT GERASIMUS

ing at the mouth, his red-rimmed eyes looking
very fierce. And the donkey was gone —
only the water-jar lay spilling on the ground.
Then Gerasimus made a great mistake. He
thought that poor Leo had grown tired of
being a vegetarian, of living upon porridge
and greens, and had tried fresh donkey-meat
for a change.

" Oh, you wicked lion ! " he cried, " you
have eaten poor Silly. What shall I do to
punish you ? " Then Leo roared louder than
ever with shame and sorrow. But he could
not speak to tell how it had happened. The
Saint was very sad. Tears stood in his kind
eyes. " You will have to be donkey now,"
he said ; " you will have to do his part of the
work since he is now a part of you. Come,
stand up and let me fasten the water-jar upon
your back." He spoke sternly and even
switched Leo with his olive stick. Leo had
never been treated like this. He was the King
of Beasts, and it was shame for a King to do
donkey's work. His eyes flashed, and he had
half a mind to refuse and to run away. Then
he looked at the good man and remembered
how he had taken out that cruel thorn. So

AND THE LION 23

he hung his head and stood still to be har-
nessed in the donkey's place.

Slowly and painfully Leo carried the
water-jar up the hill. But worse than all it
was to feel that his dear master was angry
with him. Gerasimus told the story to the
other monks, and they were even more angry
than he had been, for they did not love Leo
so well. They all agreed that Leo must be
punished ; so they treated him exactly as if
he were a mean, silly donkey. They gave
him only oats and water to eat, and made
him do all Silly's work. They would no
longer let him sleep outside his master's door,
but they tied him in a lonesome stall in the
stable. And now he could not go to walk
with Gerasimus free and happy as the King
of Beasts should be. For he went only in
harness, with never a kind word from his
master's lips.

It was a sad time for Leo. He was grow-
ing thinner and thinner. His mane was rough
and tangled because he had no heart to keep
it smooth. And there were several white hairs
in his beautiful whiskers. He was fast becom-
ing melancholy ; and the most pitiful beast

24 SAINT GERASIMUS

in all the world is a melancholy lion. He
had been hoping that something would hap-
pen to show that it was all a mistake ; but it
seemed as though the world was against
him, and truth was dead.

It was a sad time for Gerasimus, too ; for
he still loved Leo, though he knew the lion
must be punished for the dreadful deed which
he was believed to have done. One day he
had to go some distance to a neighboring
town to buy provisions. As usual, he took
Leo with him to bring back the burden, but
they did not speak all the way. Gerasimus
had done the errands which he had come to
do, and was fastening the baskets on each
side of the lion's back. A group of children
were standing around watching the queer
sight, — a lion burdened like a donkey ! And
they laughed and pointed their fingers at him,
making fun of poor Leo.

But suddenly the lion growled and began
to lash his tail, quivering like a cat ready to
spring on a mouse. The children screamed
and ran away, thinking that he was angry
with them for teasing him. But it was not
that. A train of camels was passing at the

AND THE LION 25

moment, and Leo had seen at their head a
mean, wicked face which he remembered.
And as the last of the caravan went by, Leo
caught sight of Silly himself, the missing
donkey of the monastery. At the sound of
Leo's growl. Silly pricked up his ears and
stood on his fore legs, which is not a graceful
position for a donkey. Then the Camel Driver
came running up to see what was the matter
with his stolen donkey. But when he came
face to face with Leo, whose yellow eyes
were glaring terribly, the thief trembled and
turned pale. For he remembered the dread-
ful roar which had followed him that day as
he galloped away across the sand holding
Silly's halter. The poor donkey was quiver-
ing with fear, thinking that this time he was
surely going to be eaten piecemeal. But after
all this trouble on Silly's account, the very
idea of tasting donkey made Leo sick. He
only wanted to show Gerasimus what a mis-
take had been made.

All this time Gerasimus had been wonder-
ing what the lion's strange behavior meant.
But when he saw Leo seize the donkey's
bridle, he began to suspect the truth. He ran

26 SAINT GERASIMUS

up and examined the donkey carefully. Then
Leo looked up in his face and growled softly,
as if to say : —

" Here is your old donkey, safe and sound.
You see I did n't eat him after all. That is the
real thief," and turning to the Camel Driver,
he showed his teeth and looked so fierce that
the man hid behind a camel, crying, " Take
away the lion I Kill the wicked lion I " But
Gerasimus seized Silly by the bridle.

" This is my beast," he said, " and I shall
lead him home with me. You stole him,
Thief, and my noble lion has found you out,"
and he laid his hand tenderly on Leo's head.

" He is mine, you shall not have him ! "
cried the Camel Driver, dodging out from
behind the camel, and trying to drag the don-
key away from Gerasimus. But with a dread-
ful roar, Leo sprang upon him, and with his
great paw knocked him down and sat upon
his stomach.

" Do not hurt him, Leo," said Gerasimus
gently. But to the Camel Driver he was very
stem. " Look out, Sir Thief," he said, " how
you steal again the donkey of an honest man.
Even the yellow beasts of the desert know

AND THE LION 27

better than that, and will make you ashamed.
Be thankful that you escape so easily."

Then he took the baskets from Leo's back
and bound them upon Silly, who was glad
to receive them once more from his own
master's hands. For the Camel Driver had
been cruel to him and had often beaten him.
So he resolved never again to stray away as
he had done that unlucky time. And when
they were all ready to start, Gerasimus called
Leo, and he got up from the chest of the
Camel Driver, where he had been sitting all
this time, washing his face with his paws and
smiling.

" My poor old Leo I " said Gerasimus, with
tears in his eyes, " I have made you suffer
cruelly for a crime of which you were not
guilty. But I will make it up to you."

Then happily the three set out for home,
and all the way Gerasimus kept his arm
about the neck of his lion, who was wild with
joy because he and his dear master were
friends once more, and the dreadful mistake
was discovered.

They had a joyful reception at the monas-
tery on the hill. Of course every one was glad

28 SAINT GERASIMUS

to see poor Silly again ; but best of all it was
to know that their dear old lion was not a
wicked murderer. They petted him and gave
him so many good things to eat that he
almost burst with fatness. They made him
a soft bed, and all the monks took turns in
scratching his chin for ten minutes at a time,
which was what Leo loved better than any-
thing else in the world.

And so he dwelt happily with the good
monks, one of the most honored brothers
of the monastery. Always together he and
Gerasimus lived and slept and ate and took
their walks. And at last after many, many
years, they grew old together, and very tired
and sleepy. So one night Gerasimus, who
had become an Abbot, the head of the mon-
astery, lay gently down to rest, and never
woke up in the morning. But the great lion
loved him so that when they laid Saint
Gerasimus to sleep under a beautiful plane-
tree in the garden, Leo lay down upon the
mound moaning and grieving, and would not
move. So his faithful heart broke that day,
and he, too, slept forever by his dear master's
side.

AND THE LION 29

But this was not a sad thing that hap-
pened. For think how dreadful the days
would have been for Leo without Gerasimus.
And think how sad a life Gerasimus would
have spent if Leo had left him first. Oh, no ;
it was not sad, but very, very beautiful that
the dear Saint and his friendly beast could be
happy together all the day, and when the
long night came they could sleep together
side by side in the garden.

SAINT KENETH OF THE
GULLS t t t t t t t

ONCE upon a time, more than a thou-
sand years ago, a great white sea-
gull was circling above the waves
which roll between South England and
Wales. He was pretending that he was do-
ing this just for fun ; and he seemed very
lazy and dozy as he poised and floated with-
out much trouble to move his wings. But
really he was looking for a dinner, though he
did not want any one to suspect it. And he
hoped that some unwary fish would swim up
near the surface of the water within diving
reach of his great claws. His keen gray
eyes were open all the while unsleepily, and
not much that was going on down below on
the water escaped his notice.

Suddenly his eye caught sight of a little
black speck on the waves. " Aha ! " he said
to himself, " I think I see my dinner ! " and
with a great swoop down he pounced. You
could hardly think how anything which
looked so lazy and quiet could dart so like
a flash of lightning. But a gull is an air-ship

SAINT KENETH 31

that can sink whenever it chooses. And when
he gives a fish a sudden invitation to step in
for dinner, the fish is hardly able to refuse.

But this was no fish which the hungry-
gull had spied. Before he reached the water
he saw his mistake, and wheeling swiftly as
only a gull can, he flapped back again into
the air, uttering a screech of surprise.

" Cree-e-e ! " he cried. " 'T is no scaly
water-fish such as I like to eat. 'T is one of
those smooth land-fishes with yellow seaweed
growing on its head. What is it doing here ?
I must see to this. Cree-e-e ! "

No wonder the great bird circled and
swooped curiously over the wicker basket
which was floating on the waves. For on a
piece of purple cloth lay a tiny pink-and-
white baby, sound asleep, his yellow hair
curling about the dimpled face, and one
thumb thrust into the round red mouth.

" Well, well ! " said the sea-gull to himself
when he had examined the strange floating
thing all he wished. " I must go and tell the
others about this. Something must be done.
There is a storm brewing, and this boat will
not bear much rough weather. This little

32 SAINT KENETH

land-fish cannot swim. We must take care
of him. Cree-e-e I " So off he flapped, and as
he went he gave the family cry to call the
gulls about him, wherever they might be.

Soon they came, circling carelessly, swoop-
ing sulkily, floating happily, darting eagerly,
according to their various dispositions; and
as they came they gave the Gull cry.
'' Cree-e-e ! " said they, " what is the matter *? "
" Follow me," said the White Gull to the
great fleet of gray-winged air-ships. " Follow
me, and you shall see " (which is Gull poetry).

Then he led the flock over the spot where
the wicker cradle tossed on the growing
waves. " Lo," said he, '' a land-fish in danger
of being drowned among the Scaly Ones.
Let us save it. See how pink it is. Its eyes
are a piece of the sky, and its voice is not
unlike ours — listen ! "

For by this time the baby had wakened,
and feeling cold and hungry and wet with
the dashing spray, opened his pink mouth,
and began to cry lustily. " E-e-e-e-e ! " wailed
the baby; and as the White Gull had said,
that sounds very like the chief word of the
Gull tongue.

OF THE GULLS

33

SAINT KENETH OF THE GULLS

" Poor little thing I " said all the mother
gulls in chorus. " He talks our language, he
must be saved. Come, brothers and sisters,
and use your beaks and talons before the

34 SAINT KENETH

clumsy nest in which he lies is sunk beneath
the waves. Cree-e-e, little one, cree-e-e ! We
will save you."

Now, I don't know what cree-e-e means in
Gull. But the baby must have understood.
For he stopped crying instantly, and looked
up laughing at the white wings which fanned
his face and the kind gray eyes which peered
into his own blue ones.

So the strong gulls seized the comers of
the purple cloth on which the baby lay, some
with their claws, some with their hooked
beaks. And at a signal from the White Gull
they fluttered up and away, bearing the baby
over the waves as if he were in a little ham-
mock. The White Gull flew on before and
guided them to land, — a high shelf which
hung over the sea roaring on the rocks be-
low, the nicest kind of a gull home. And
here they laid the baby down, and sat about
wondering what they must do next. But the
baby cried.

" We must build him a nest," said the
White Gull. " These rocks are too hard and
too sharp for a little land-fish. I know how
they sleep in their home nests, for I have
seen."

OF THE GULLS 35

Now the gulls lay their eggs on the bare
rocks, and think these quite soft enough for
the young gull babies. But they all agreed
that this would never do for the little stranger.
So they pulled the downy feathers from their
breasts till they had a great pile ; and of this
they made the softest bed in which they laid
the baby. And he slept.

This is how little Saint Keneth was saved
from the waves by the kind sea-gulls. And
it goes to show that birds are sometimes
kinder than human folk. For Keneth was
the Welsh Prince's little son. But no one
loved him, and his cruel mother had put him
into the wicker basket and set him afloat on
the waves, not caring what became of him
nor hoping to see him again. But this in
after years she did, when Keneth was become
a great and famous Saint whom all, even the
Prince and Princess, honored. She did not
know him then because she believed that he
was dead. How proud she would have been
if she could have called him " Son ! " But
that was many years later.

Now when the gulls had made Keneth
this comfortable nest, they next wondered

1,6 SAINT KENETH

what they should do to get him food. But
the White Gull had an idea. He flew away
over the land and was gone for some time.
When at last he returned he*had with him a
kind forest doe, — a yellow mother Deer who
had left her little ones, at the White Gull's
request, to come and feed the stranger baby.
So Keneth found a new mother who loved
him far better than his own had done, — a
new mother who came every morning and
every night and fed him with her milk. And
he grew strong and fat and hearty, the happy
baby in his nest upon the rocks, where his
friends, the sea-gulls, watched over him, and
the mother Deer fed and cared for him, and
washed him clean with her warm crash-towel
tongue.

Now when Keneth had lived in the sea-
gulls' home for some months, one day the
flock of guardian gulls left him while they
went upon a fishing trip. The mother Deer
had not yet come with his breakfast, but was
at home with her own little ones, so that for
the first time Keneth was quite alone. He
did not know this, but was sleeping peace-
fully on his purple quilt, when a strange face

OF THE GULLS 37

came peering over the edge of the rocks. It
was a Shepherd from the nearest village who
had clambered up to seek gulls' eggs for his
breakfast. But his eyes bulged out of his
head, and he nearly fell over backward into
the sea with surprise when he saw Keneth
lying in his nest of feathers.

" The Saints preserve us ! " he cried,
" what is this ? " But when he had climbed
nearer and saw what it really was, he was
delighted with the treasure which he had
found. " A beautiful little baby ! " he ex-
claimed. " I will take him home to my wife,
who has no child of her own." And forthwith
he took up Keneth, wrapped in the purple
cloth, and started down over the rocks towards
his home.

But Keneth wakened at the stranger's
touch and began to wail. He had no mind
to go with the Shepherd ; he wanted to stay
where he was. So as they went he screamed
at the top of his lungs, hoping some of his
friends would come. And the mother Deer,
who was on her way thither, heard his voice.
She came running in a fright, but she could
do nothing to protect him, being a gentle.

38 SAINT KENETH

weaponless creature. However, she followed
anxiously to see what would happen to her
darling. So they went down the rocks, Ken-
eth and the Shepherd, with the Deer close
behind. And all the way Keneth shrieked
loudly, "E-e-e-e!"

Now at last a messenger breeze carried
the baby voice out over the water of the
Bristol Channel where the gulls were fish-
ing.

" What is that ? " they said, stopping
their work to listen. " Is it not our little
land-fish calling us in Gull ^ He is in trou-
ble or danger. Brothers, to the rescue !
Cre-e-e-e I "

So the flock of gulls left their fishing and
swooped back to the rock where they had
left the baby. Dreadful ! The nest was
empty. They flapped their wide wings and
screamed with fear, " What shall we do *? "

But just then up the rocky hill came pant-
ing the mother Deer. Her glossy hide was
warm and wet, and her tongue lolled out
with weariness, she had run so fast.

" He is down there," she panted. " The
Shepherd has carried him to his hut and laid

OF THE GULLS 39

him in a nest such as human-folk make. The
Shepherd's wife loves him and would keep
him there, but he is unhappy and cries for
us. You must bring him back."

" We will, we will I " screamed the gulls
in chorus. "Guide us to the place, mother
Deer." And without another word they rose
on their great, strong wings, and followed
where she led. Back down the hill she took
the path, over the moor and up the lane to
a little white cottage under the rosebushes.
" Here is the place," said the Deer, and she
paused.

But the flock of gulls with a great whir-
ring and rustling and screaming swooped in
at the little low door, straight up to the cradle
where Keneth lay crying " E-e-e-e ! " as if his
heart would break.

The Shepherd's wife was sitting by the
cradle saying, " Hush ! " and " Bye-lo I " and
other silly things that Keneth did not under-
stand. But when she heard the rushing of
the gulls' wings, she gave a scream and
started for the door.

" Cree-e-e I " cried the gulls fiercely.
" Give us our little one." And they perched

40 SAINT KENETH

on the edge of the cradle and looked tenderly
at Keneth. Then he stopped his crying and
began to laugh, for these were the voices he
knew and loved. And in another minute the
gulls had fastened their beaks and claws into
the purple cloth, and once more bore him
away as they had done when they saved him
from the sea.

Out of the door they flew, right over the
Shepherd's astonished head, while his wife
stared wildly at the empty cradle. And soon
Keneth was lying in his own nest on the
ledge above the roaring billows.

After this no one tried again to bring the
gulls' adopted baby back among human folk.
Little Keneth tarried and thrived with his
feathered brothers, growing fat and strong.
When he came to walk he was somewhat
lame, to be sure ; one of his legs was shorter
than the other, and he limped like a poor gull
who has hurt his foot. But this troubled
Keneth very little, and the gulls were kind.
He was always happy and contented, full of
singing and laughter and kind words for all.

And here in his wild, spray-sprinkled nest
above the Atlantic breakers, Keneth dwelt

OF THE GULLS 41

all his life. The Welsh peasants of the Gower
peninsula revered him as their Saint, know-
ing him to be a holy man beloved by the
gulls and the deer and all the wild creatures
of shore and forest, who did their kindly best
to make him happy.

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S

COW tttttttt

SAINT LAUNOMAR had once been a
shepherd boy in the meadows of sunny-
France, and had Hved among the gen-
tle creatures of the fold and byre. So he un-
derstood them and their ways very well, and
they knew him for their friend. For this is a
secret which one cannot keep from the ani-
mals whose speech is silent.

Saint Launomar had a cow of whom he
was fond, a sleek black and white beauty,
who pastured in the green meadows of
Chartres near the monastery and came home
every evening to be milked and to rub her
soft nose against her master's hand, telling
him how much she loved him. Mignon was
a very wise cow; you could tell that by the
curve of her horns and by the wrinkles in her
forehead between the eyes ; and especially by
the way she switched her tail. And indeed,
a cow ought to be wise who has been brought
up by a whole monastery of learned men,
with Launomar, the wisest person in all the
country, for her master and friend.

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW 43

It was a dark night after milking time;
Launomar had put Mignon in her stall with
a supper of hay before her, and had bade her
good-night and a pleasant cud-time. Then
he had shut the heavy barn door and had
gone back to his cell to sleep soundly till
morning.

But no sooner had his lantern disappeared
through the gate of the monastery, than out
of the forest came five black figures, creeping,
creeping along the wall and across the yard
and up to the great oak door. They were all
muffled in long black cloaks, and wore their
caps pulled down over their faces, as if they
were afraid of being recognized. They were
wicked-looking men, and they had big knives
stuck in their belts quite convenient to their
hands. It was a band of robbers ; and they
had come to steal Launomar's cow, who was
known to be the handsomest in all that part
of the world.

Very softly they forced open the great
door, and very softly they stole across the
floor to Mignon's stall and threw a strong
halter about her neck to lead her away. But
first they were careful to tie up her mouth in

44 SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW

a piece of cloth so that she could not low
and tell the whole monastery what danger
she was in. Mignon was angry, for that was
just what she had meant to do as soon as she
saw that these were no friends, but wicked
men who had come for no good to her or to
the monastery.

But now she had to go with them dumbly,
although she struggled and kicked and made
all the noise she could. But the monks were
already sound asleep and snoring on their
hard pallets, and never suspected what was
going on so near to them. Even Launomar,
who turned over in his sleep and murmured,
" Ho, Mignon, stand still ! " when he dimly
recognized a sound of kicking, — even Lau-
nomar did not waken to rescue his dear
Mignon from the hands of those villains who
were taking her away.

- The robbers led her hurriedly down the
lane, across the familiar meadows and into
the dense woods, where they could hide from
any one who happened to pass by. Now it
was dark, and they could see but dimly where
they were going. The paths crossed and
crisscrossed in so many directions that they

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW 45

soon began to quarrel about which was the
right one to take. They did not know this
part of the country very well, for they were
strangers from a different province, who had
come to Launomar's home because they had
heard of his famous cow and were bound to
have her for themselves.

Very soon the robbers were lost in the
tangle of trees and bushes and did not know
where they were, or in which direction they
ought to go. One said, " Go that way,"
pointing towards the north. And one said,
"No, no I Go that way," pointing directly
south. The third grumbled and said, " Ho,
fellows I Not so, but this way," and he strode
towards the east. While the fourth man
cried, " You are all wrong, comrades. It is
there we must go," and he started to lead
Mignon towards the west. But the fifth rob-
ber confessed that indeed he did not know.

'' Let us follow the cow," he cried ; " she is
the only one who can see in the dark. I have
always heard that animals will lead you aright
if you leave the matter to them." Now as the
other robbers really did not have the least
idea in the world as to which was the right

46 SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW

direction, this seemed to them as sensible a
plan as any. So they stripped the halter from
Mignon's head and said, " Hi, there ! Get
along, Cow, and show us the way."

Mignon looked at them through the dark
with her big brown eyes, and laughed inside.
It seemed too good to be true ! They had
left her free, and were bidding her to guide
them on their way out of the forest back to
their own country. Mignon chuckled again,
so loudly that they thought she must be
choking, and hastily untied the cloth from
her mouth. This was just what she wanted,
for she longed to chew her cud again. She
tossed her head and gave a gentle " Moo ! "
as if to say, " Come on, simple men, and I
will show you the way." But really she was
thinking to herself, "Aha! my fine fellows.
Now I will lead you a pretty chase. And
you shall be repaid for this night's work,
aha ! "

Mignon was a very wise cow. She had
not pastured in the meadows about Chartres
with blind eyes. She knew the paths north
and south and east and west through the
forest and the fern ; and even in the dark of

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW 47

the tangled underbrush she could feel out
the way quite plainly. But she said to her-
self, " I must not make the way too easy for
these wicked men. I must punish them all
I can now that it is my turn."

So she led them roundabout and round-
about, through mud and brambles and
swamps ; over little brooks and through big
miry ponds where they were nearly drowned,
— roundabout and roundabout all night long.
They wanted to rest, but she went so fast
that they could not catch her to make her
stand still. And they dared not lose sight
of her big whiteness through the dark, for
now they were completely lost and could
never find their way out of the wilderness
without her. So all night long she kept them
panting and puffing and wading after her, till
they were all worn out, cold and shivering
with wet, scratched and bleeding from the
briars, and cross as ten sticks.

But when at last, an hour after sunrise,
Mignon led them out into an open clearing,
their faces brightened.

" Oh, I think I remember this place," said
the first man.

48 SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW

"Yes, it has a familiar look. We must
be near home," said the second.

"We are at least twenty-five miles from
the monks of Chartres by this time," said the
third, " and I wish we had some breakfast."

" By another hour we shall have the cow
safe in our home den," said the fourth, " and
then we will have some bread and milk."

But the fifth interrupted them saying,
" Look ! Who is that man in gray *? "

They all looked up quickly and began to
tremble ; but Mignon gave a great " Moo I "
and galloped forward to meet the figure who
had stepped out from behind a bush. It was
Saint Launomar himself I

He had been up ever since dawn looking
for his precious cow ; for when he went to
milk her he had found the barn empty, and
her footprints with those of the five robbers
in the moist earth had told the story and
pointed which way the company had gone.
But it was not his plan to scold or frighten
the robbers. He walked up to them; for they
were so surprised to see him that they stood
still trembling, forgetting even to run away.

"Good-morning, friends," said Launomar

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW 49

kindly. " You have brought back my cow,
I see, who to-night for the first time has left
her stall to wander far. I thank you, good
friends, for bringing Mignon to me. For she
is not only a treasure in herself, but she is my
dearest friend and I should be most unhappy
to lose her."

The men stood staring at Launomar in
astonishment. They could hardly beheve
their eyes and their ears. Where did he come
from? What did he mean? But when they
realized how kind his voice was, and that he
was not accusing them nor threatening to
have them punished, they were very much
ashamed. They hung their heads guiltily;
and then all of a sudden they fell at his feet,
the five of them, confessing how it had all
come about and begging his pardon.

" We stole the cow, Master," said the first
one.

" And carried her these many miles away,"
said the second.

" We are wicked robbers and deserve to
be punished," said the third.

" But we beg you to pardon us," cried the
fourth.

50 SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW

" Let us depart, kind Father, we pray you,"
begged the fifth. " And be so good as to
direct us on our way, for we are sorely puz-
zled."

"Nay, nay," answered Saint Launomar
pleasantly, "the cow hath led you a long
way, hath she not *? You must be both tired
and hungry. You cannot journey yet." And
in truth they were miserable objects to see,
so that the Saint's kind heart was filled with
pity, robbers though they were. " Follow
me," he said. By this time they were too
weak and weary to think of disobeying. So
meekly they formed into a procession of
seven, .Launomar and the cow going cheer-
fully at the head. For these two were very
glad to be together again, and his arm was
thrown lovingly about her glossy neck as
they went.

But what was the amazement of the five
robbers when in a short minute or two they
turned a corner, and there close beside them
stood the monastery itself, with the very
barn from which they had stolen Mignon
the night before! All this time the clever
cow had led them in great circles roundabout

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW 51

and roundabout her own home. And after
all this scrambling and wading through the
darkness, in the morning they were no farther
on their journey than they had been at the
start. What a wise cow that was ! And what
a good breakfast of bran porridge and hay
and sweet turnips Launomar gave her to pay
for her hard night's work.

The five robbers had a good breakfast
too ; but perhaps they did not relish it as
Mignon did hers. For their consciences were
heavy; besides, they sat at the monastery
table, and all the monks stood by in a row,
saying nothing but pursing up their mouths
and looking pious; which was trying. And
when the robbers came to drink their por-
ridge Launomar said mildly, —

" That is Mignon's milk which you drink.
Sirs. It is the best milk in France, and you
are welcome to it for your breakfast to-day,
since we have such reason to be grateful to
you for not putting it beyond our reach for-
ever. Ah, my friends, we could ill spare so
worthy a cow, so good a friend, so faithful a
guide. But I trust that you will not need
her services again. Perhaps by daylight you

52 SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW

can find your way home without her if I di-
rect you. The highroad is plain and straight
for honest men. I commend it to you."

So, when they were refreshed and rested,
Launomar led them forth and pointed out
the way as he had promised. He and Mi-
gnon stood on the crest of a little hill and
watched them out of sight. Then they turned
and looked at one another, the wise Saint and
his wise cow.

And they both chuckled inside.

SAINT WERBURGH &

HER GOOSE t t t t t
I.

SAINT WERBURGH was a King's
daughter, a real princess, and very
beautiful. But unlike most princesses
of the fairy tales, she cared nothing at all
about princes or pretty clothes or jewels, oi
about having a good time. Her only longing
was to do good and to make other people
happy, and to grow good and wise herself, so
that she could do this all the better. So she
studied and studied, worked and worked;
and she became a holy woman, an Abbess.
And while she was still very young and
beautiful, she was given charge of a whole
convent of nuns and school-girls not much
younger than herself, because she was so
much wiser and better than any one else in
all the countryside.

But though Saint Werburgh had grown
so famous and so powerful, she still remained
a simple, sweet girl. All the country people
loved her, for she was always eager to help
them, to cure the little sick children and to

54 SAINT WERBURGH

advise their fathers and mothers. She never
failed to answer the questions which puzzled
them, and so she set their poor troubled
minds at ease. She was so wise that she
knew how to make people do what she knew
to be right, even when they wanted to do
wrong. And not only human folk but ani-
mals felt the power of this young Saint. For
she loved and was kind to them also. She
studied about them and grew to know their
queer habits and their animal way of think-
ing. And she learned their language, too.
Now when one loves a little creature very
much and understands it well, one can almost
always make it do what one wishes — that
is, if one wishes right.

For some time Saint Werburgh had been
interested in a flock of wild geese which came
every day to get their breakfast in the con-
vent meadow, and to have a morning bath in
the pond beneath the window of her cell.
She grew to watch until the big, long-necked
gray things with their short tails and clumsy
feet settled with a harsh " Honk ! " in the
grass. Then she loved to see the big ones
waddle clumsily about in search of dainties

AND HER GOOSE 55

for the children, while the babies stood still,
flapping their wings and crying greedily till
they were fed.

There was one goose which was her favor-
ite. He was the biggest of them all, fat and
happy looking. He was the leader and
formed the point of the V in which a flock
of wild geese always flies. He was the first
to alight in the meadow, and it was he who
chose the spot for their breakfast. Saint Wer-
burgh named him Grayking, and she grew
very fond of him, although they had never
spoken to one another.

Master Hugh was the convent Steward, a
big, surly fellow who did not love birds nor
animals except when they were served up for
him to eat. Hugh also had seen the geese in
the meadow. But, instead of thinking how
nice and funny they were, and how amusing
it was to watch them eat the worms and flop
about in the water, he thought only, " What
a fine goose pie they would make ! " And
especially he looked at Grayking, the plump-
est and most tempting of them all, and
smacked his lips. "Oh, how I wish I had
you in my frying-pan ! " he said to himself

S6 SAINT WERBURGH

Now it happened that worms were rather
scarce in the convent meadow that spring. It
had been dry, and the worms had crawled
away to moister places. So Grayking and
his followers found it hard to get breakfast
enough. One morning, Saint Werburgh
looked in vain for them in the usual spot.
At first she was only surprised ; but as she
waited and waited, and still they did not
come, she began to feel much alarmed.

Just as she was going down to her own
dinner, the Steward, Hugh, appeared before
her cap in hand and bowing low. His fat
face was puffed and red with hurrying up the
convent hill, and he looked angry.

" What is it. Master Hugh ? " asked Saint
Werburgh in her gentle voice. " Have you
not money enough to buy to-morrow's break-
fast *? " for it was his duty to pay the convent
bills.

" Nay, Lady Abbess," he answered gruffly ;
" it is not lack of money that troubles me.
It is abundance of geese."

"Geese! How? Why?" exclaimed
Saint Werburgh, startled. " What of geese.
Master Hugh?"

AND HER GOOSE 57

" This of geese, Lady Abbess," he replied.
"A flock of long-necked thieves have been
in my new-planted field of corn, and have
stolen all that was to make my harvest."
Saint Werburgh bit her lips.

"What geese were they?" she faltered,
though she guessed the truth.

" Whence the rascals come, I know not,"
he answered, "but this I know. They are
the same which gather every morning in the
meadow yonder. I spied the leader, a fat,
fine thief with a black ring about his neck.
It should be a noose, indeed, for hanging. I
would have them punished. Lady Abbess."

" They shall be punished. Master Hugh,"
said Saint Werburgh firmly, and she went
sadly up the stair to her cell without tasting
so much as a bit of bread for her dinner. For
she was sorry to find her friends such naughty
birds, and she did not want to punish them,
especially Grayking. But she knew that she
must do her duty.

When she had put on her cloak and hood
she went out into the courtyard behind the
convent where there were pens for keeping
doves and chickens and little pigs. And

58 SAINT WERBURGH

standing beside die largest of these pens
Saint Werburgh made a strange cry, like
the voice of the geese themselves, — a cry
which seemed to say, " Come here, Grayking's
geese, with Grayking at the head I " And as
she stood there waiting, the sky grew black
above her head with the shadowing of wings,
and the honking of the geese grew louder
and nearer till they circled and lighted in a
flock at her feet.

She saw that they looked very plump and
well-fed, and Grayking was the fattest of the
flock. All she did was to look at them
steadily and reproachfully; but they came
waddling bashfully up to her and stood in
a line before her with drooping heads. It
seemed as if something made them stay and
listen to what she had to say, although they
would much rather fly away.

Then she talked to them gently and told
them how bad they were to steal corn and
spoil the harvest. And as she talked they
grew to love her tender voice, even though
it scolded them. She cried bitterly as she
took each one by the wings and shook him
for his sins and whipped him — not too se-

AND HER GOOSE 59

vcrely. Tears stood in the round eyes of the
geese also, not because she hurt them, for she
had hardly ruffled their thick feathers ; but
because they were sorry to have pained the
beautiful Saint. For they saw that she loved
them, and the more she punished them the
better they loved her. Last of all she pun-
ished Grayking. But when she had finished
she took him up in her arms and kissed him
before putting him in the pen with the other
geese, where she meant to keep them in
prison for a day and a night. Then Gray-
king hung his head, and in his heart he pro-
mised that neither he nor his followers should
ever again steal anything, no matter how
hungry they were. Now Saint Werburgh
read the thought in his heart and was glad,
and she smiled as she turned away. She was
sorry to keep them in the cage, but she
hoped it might do them good. And she said
to herself, " They shall have at least one
good breakfast of convent porridge before
they go."

Saint Werburgh trusted Hugh, the Stew-
ard, for she did not yet know the wickedness
of his heart. So she told him how she had

6o SAINT WERBURGH

punished the geese for robbing him, and how
she was sure they would never do so any
more. Then she bade him see that they had
a breakfast of convent porridge the next
morning; and after that they should be set
free to go where they chose.

Hugh was not satisfied. He thought the
geese had not been punished enough. And
he went away grumbling, but not daring to
say anything cross to the Lady Abbess who
was the King's daughter.

11.

SAINT WERBURGH was busy all
the rest of that day and early the next
morning too, so she could not get out
again to see the prisoned geese. But when
she went to her cell for the morning rest
after her work was done, she sat down by
the window and looked out smilingly, think-
ing to see her friend Grayking and the others
taking their bath in the meadow. But there
were no geese to be seen ! Werburgh's face
grew grave. And even as she sat there won-
dering what had happened, she heard a pro-

AND HER GOOSE 6i

prodigious honking overhead, and a flock of
geese came straggUng down, not in the usual
trim V, but all unevenly and without a
leader. Grayking was gone I

They fluttered about crying and asking
advice of one another, till they heard Saint
Werburgh's voice calling them anxiously.
Then with a cry of joy they flew straight up
to her window and began talking all together,
trying to tell her what had happened.

" Grayking is gone I " they said. " Gray-
king is stolen by the wicked Steward. Gray-
king was taken away when we were set free,
and we shall never see him again. What
shall we do, dear lady, without our leader ? "

Saint Werburgh was horrified to think
that her dear Grayking might be in danger.
Oh, how that wicked Steward had deceived
her! She began to feel angry. Then she
turned to the birds : " Dear geese," she said
earnestly, " you have promised me never to
steal again, have you not ^ " and they all
honked " Yes ! " " Then I will go and ques-
tion the Steward," she continued, " and if he
is guilty I will punish him and make him
bring Grayking back to you."

62 SAINT WERBURGH

The geese flew away feeling somewhat
comforted, and Saint Werburgh sent speedily
for Master Hugh. He came, looking much
surprised, for he could not imagine what she
wanted of him. " Where is the gray goose
with the black ring about his neck '? " began
Saint Werburgh without any preface, looking
at him keenly. He stammered and grew con-
fused. "I — I don't know. Lady Abbess,"
he faltered. He had not guessed that she
cared especially about the geese.

" Nay, you know well," said Saint Wer-
burgh, "for I bade you feed them and set
them free this morning. But one is gone."
" A fox must have stolen it," said he guiltily.

" Ay, a fox with black hair and a red, fat
face," quoth Saint Werburgh sternly. " Do
not tell me lies. You have taken him, Mas-
ter Hugh. I can read it in your heart." Then
he grew weak and confessed.

" Ay, I have taken the great gray goose,"
he said faintly. " Was it so very wrong ? "

" He was a friend of mine and I love him
dearly," said Saint Werburgh. At these
words the Steward turned very pale indeed.

" I did not know," he gasped.

AND HER GOOSE 63

"Go and bring him to me, then," com-
manded the Saint, and pointed to the door.
Master Hugh slunk out looking very sick
and miserable and horribly frightened. For
the truth was that he had been tempted by
Grayking's fatness. He had carried the goose
home and made him into a hot, juicy pie
which he had eaten for that very morning's
breakfast. So how could he bring the bird
back to Saint Werburgh, no matter how
sternly she commanded *?

All day long he hid in the woods, not dar-
ing to let himself be seen by any one. For
Saint Werburgh was a King's daughter ; and
if the King should learn what he had done to
the pet of the Lady Abbess, he might have
Hugh himself punished by being baked into
a pie for the King's hounds to eat.

But at night he could bear it no longer.
He heard the voice of Saint Werburgh call-
ing his name very softly from the convent,
" Master Hugh, Master Hugh, come, bring
me my goose I " And just as the geese could
not help coming when she called them, so he
felt that he must go, whether he would or
no. He went into his pantry and took down

64 SAINT WERBURGH

the remains of the great pie. He gathered up
the bones of poor Grayking in a Httle basket,
and with chattering teeth and shaking hmbs
stole up to the convent and knocked at the
wicket gate.

Saint Werburgh was waiting for him. " I
knew you would come," she said. " Have
you brought my goose ? " Then silently and
with trembling hands he took out the bones
one by one and laid them on the ground
before Saint Werburgh. So he stood with
bowed head and knocking knees waiting to
hear her pronounce his punishment.

" Oh, you wicked man ! " she said sadly.
"You have killed my beautiful Grayking,
who never did harm to any one except to
steal a little corn."

"I did not know you loved him. Lady,"
faltered the man in self-defense.

" You ought to have known it," she re-
turned ; " you ought to have loved him your-
self"

" I did. Lady Abbess," confessed the man.
" That was the trouble. I loved him too
well — in a pie."

" Oh, selfish, gluttonous man I " she ex-

AND HER GOOSE 65

claimed in disgust. "Can you not see the
beauty of a dear little live creature till it is
dead and fit only for your table *? I shall have
you taught better. Henceforth you shall be
made to study the lives and ways of all things
which live about the convent; and never
again, for punishment, shall you eat flesh of
any bird or beast. We will see if you can-
not be taught to love them when they have
ceased to mean Pie. Moreover, you shall be
confined for two days and two nights in the
pen where I kept the geese. And porridge
shall be your only food the while. Go, Mas-
ter Hugh."

So the wicked Steward was punished. But
he learned his lesson ; and after a little while
he grew to love the birds almost as well as
Saint Werburgh herself

But she had not yet finished with Gray-
king. After Master Hugh had gone she bent
over the pitiful little pile of bones which was
all that was left of that unlucky pie. A tear
fell upon them from her beautiful eyes; and
kneelinfr down she touched them with her

o

white fingers, speaking softly the name of
the bird whom she had loved.

66 SAINT WERBURGH

"Grayking, arise," she said. And hardly
had the words left her mouth when a strange
thing happened. The bones stirred, lifted
themselves, and in a moment a glad " Honk 1 "
sounded in the air, and Grayking himself,
black ring and all, stood ruffling his feathers
before her. She clasped him in her arms and
kissed him again and again. Then calling
the rest of the flock by her strange power,
she showed them their lost leader restored as
good as new.

What a happy flock of geese flew honk-
ing away in an even V, with the handsomest,
grayest, plumpest goose in all the world at
their head I And what an exciting story he
had to tell his mates ! Surely, no other
goose ever lived who could tell how it felt
to be made into pie, to be eaten and to have
his bones picked clean by a greedy Steward.

This is how Saint Werburgh made lifelong
friendship with a flock of big gray geese.
And I dare say even now in England one of
their descendants may be found with a black
ring around his neck, the handsomest, gray-
est, plumpest goose in all the world. And
when he hears the name of Saint Werburgh,

AND HER GOOSE

67

SAINT WERBURGH & HER GOOSE

which has been handed down to him from
grandfather to grandson for twelve hundred
years, he will give an especially loud
"Honk!" of praise.

68 SAINT WERBURGH

Dear Saint Werburgh ! One would almost
be willing to make a goose of himself if so
he might see her again, with all her feathered
friends about her.

THE BALLAD OF SAINT
ATHRACTA'S STAGS t t

A

THRACTA was a maiden fair,
A Prince's daughter she ;
Down to her feet fell golden hair,
A wondrous sight to see.

And all amid this golden shower,

The sweetest rosebud face
Blossomed like a dew-fed flower

Upon a stem of grace.

Yet loved she not the court of kings.

But in the wild would be.
With but one maid her hair to braid

And bear her company.

So, near Lough Cara's silver sheen.
They built of turf and bark

A hut wherein from springtide green
They dwelt through winter's dark.

On seven cross-roads the hut was made,

That they might offer rest
To pilgrims by the night waylaid,

And strangers hunger-pressed.

70 BALLAD OF

To draw them water from the lake.

To till their little soil,
Two ancient horses did they take,

Outworn for other toil.

Once gallant chargers these had been,
Keen-eyed and prancing gay.

Who tourneys brave and wars had seen,
All decked in bright array.

But now their age in peace was spent

By kind Athracta's side ;
No gallant wars, no tournament,

And yet they served with pride.

Their neighbors in the forest glades
Were stately, antlered deer.

Nor of the two most holy maids
Had these, their brothers, fear.

So dwelt the maidens there alone
For many months and years,

The doings of the world unknown,
Its wars, its woes, its tears.

But strife was stirring in the land.
And kings must castles build.

SAINT ATHRACTA'S STAGS 7

To guard them from the foeman's hand
With fire and weapon filled.

And so the King's most stern decree •

Went forth upon a day, —
' My serfs must build a fort for me,

Each must his service pay.

* Each man and maiden must fulfill
In this great work his share ;

It is the King of Connaught's will.
Let tardy hands beware ! "

Athracta sent unto the King :
" We be but maidens twain,

My Liege, we cannot do this thing,
I beg we may refrain."

But sternly sent he back the word, —
" Ye maids must do your part."

He was a hard and cruel lord.
No pity touched his heart.

So forth they fared into the wood,

Athracta with her maid.
To fell the timber as they could,

Without of men for aid.

72 BALLAD OF

Heavy the axe and full of pain
Each weak and skill-less stroke.

Yet strove the maids again, again,
With walnut, beech, and oak.

Until upon the wagon cast
By which the horses stood,

Their bleeding hands had piled at last
The goodly logs of wood.

But when Athracta saw the steeds

Straining with feeble will
To draw the heavy load, it needs

Must make her eyes to fill.

Athracta spoke all piteously, —
" Alack I poor broken things.

Must you, too, bear your painful share
To save the pride of Kings *?

" How can I ease your burden, how,
My faithful servants still ?
My little hands are bleeding now
With toil beyond their skill."

" O mistress dear," then spoke her maid,
" These be but feeble nags ;

SAINT ATHRACTA'S STAGS 73

How would the King's pride be dismayed
If you could harness Stags I '*

" Thou sayest well," Athracta vowed.
" Come hither, Stags ! " she cried.
And lo I the thud of hoofs grew loud
Ere yet the echo died.

" Come hither, Stags I " O'er green and
glade
The silver summons thrilled.
And soon the space about the maid
With antlered kings was filled.

Through moss and fern and tangled trees
Twelve panting creatures broke.

And bending low their stately knees
They knelt beneath the yoke.

Now harnessed in the horses' stead
The great Stags strained their best.

To please the Lady at their head
And follow her behest.

But lo I a vexing thing then happed ;
Scarce had they gained the road,

74 BALLAD OF

The rusty chains of iron snapped
Beneath the heavy load.

Yet paused she not in weak despair.

This noble-hearted maid,
But loosed her heavy golden hair

Out from its double braid.

She loosed her locks so wonder-bright
And shook them to the breeze ; —

It seemed a beam of yellow light
Had sifted through the trees.

Then from amid this golden net
She plucked some silken strands,

And where the chains had first been set
She bound them with her hands.

She tied the ends against the strain.
And knotted them with care.

Then bade the Stags pull once again
Upon the ropes of hair.

And lo ! the slender harness held.
And lo ! the antlered steeds

Went forth to prove their generous love
Lent to a maiden's needs.

SAINT ATHRACTA'S STAGS 75

Straight to the King her gift they bore
To fill his heart with shame ;

And her true maiden went before
To show him whence they came.

Now when the King this wonder saw
He turned all pale and red,
" She hath a greater power than law,"
He vowed, and bowed his head.

" She hath a greater power than I,
Whose slaves the wild stags be.
And golden hair like this might snare
E'en the wild heart of me.

" No need to her of castles stout.

No need of moat or tower.
With antlered guardians about

Her lonely wild-wood bower.

" No need to her of watch or ward.
With friends like these at hand ;
Bid her from me henceforth to be
Queen of her little land.

" Henceforth she is no serf of mine,
Nor subject to my throne ;

76 SAINT ATHRACTA'S STAGS

Where'er her golden hair may shine
That is her realm alone."

So where the seven cross-roads met

Still dwelt the holy maid,
Her hut a place of refuge set

For all who shelter prayed.

Her realm a holy place of peace,
Where, with the ancient nags,

Lived out their days in pleasant ways
Athracta's faithful Stags.

SAINT KENTIGERN &

THE ROBIN t t t t t

ONCE upon a time Saint Servan kept
a school near Glasgow in Scotland,
and many boys, big and little, came
there to study. Now of all these boys there
was one who surpassed the rest in everything
that makes a good scholar. Kentigern was
one of the smallest boys in the school, and
yet he stood at the head of all his classes. It
was Kentigern who found the answer to the
knottiest problem, and who read off the hard-
est passages of Latin when no one else was
able to make sense of them. It was Ken-
tigern who learned his lessons first and who
recited them best. It was Kentigern who
sang the loudest and was never off the pitch ;
and good Saint Servan loved him best of all
his pupils.

For all these reasons, and for several more
like them, the other boys were jealous of
Kentigern and did everything they could to
trouble him and make him unhappy. They
tried to make him fail in his lessons by talk-
ing and laughing when it was his turn to re-

78 SAINT KENTIGERN

cite. But this was a useless trick ; his answers
were always ready, so they had to give this
up. They teased him and called him names,
trying to make him lose his temper so that
he would be punished. But he was too good-
natured to be cross with them ; so they had
to give this up. They tried to coax him into
mischief and lead him do something which
would make Saint Servan angry with him.
But Kentigern loved his master too well to
do anything to trouble him. So the boys
had finally to give this up also.

There was only one way to bring Kenti-
gern into disgrace. They must plan a trap,
and make him fall into it. For weeks they
racked their brains trying to think what they
should do ; but at last they thought they had
hit upon a plan.

It was all concerned with a fire. In those
days there were no matches with which to
strike a light in a second. Matches had not
been invented in the year 600, nor indeed
for many centuries afterwards. Their way of
making a fire was by rubbing two dry sticks
together until they grew hot and a spark fell
out upon the wood which was to be kindled.

AND THE ROBIN 79

And this was a very difficult and tiresome
thing to do, especially in the winter when
there were few dry sticks to be found. So
the fire which was kept burning night and
day in the great fireplace of Saint Servan's
school was tended carefully, and it would be
a very serious thing to let this go out. For
how would the breakfast be cooked, and the
rooms warmed, and the candles lighted for
the morning service in the chapel if there
were no fire on the great hearth ^

So for a week at a time the boys had to
take turns in tending the fire ; and the boy
whose turn it was had to rise at midnight and
put on wood enough to keep the blaze bright
until morning. And oh ! how angry Saint
Servan would be with any boy who was so
careless as to let the fire go out in the night.

Now it was Kentigern's week to tend the
fire ; and for several days he did tend it faith-
fully. But the boys were waiting for a chance
to play their mean trick. On the fourth night
Kentigern rose as the chapel clock boomed
" twelve I " and went down to the kitchen to
give the hungry fire its midnight lunch of
snappy wood. But as soon as he stepped

8o SAINT KENTIGERN

into the great empty hall he knew something
was wrong. Br-r-r I The air was damp and
chilly, and there was no crimson glow on the
hearthstones. Kentigern shivered and ran to
the fireplace, peering into the black cavern.
There was nothing but a heap of white ashes
and half-burnt wood I

Then Kentigern's heart sank, for he knew
he should be blamed for carelessness, although
he suspected that some one had thrown water
on the fire and put it out. And he guessed
that it was the other boys who had done this
spiteful thing to bring him into trouble. He
did not know what to do. But a sudden
courage came to him. He took up a log of
wood from the corner and laid it on the heap
of ashes. Then bending down he blew gently
on the pile. And oh, wonderful to say I It
was as if he had scratched a dozen cards of
matches and had touched them to a pile of
paper. Hardly had his breath stirred the
ashes and made the moss shiver on the great
log, when the whole fireplace was filled with
dancing flames, and the wood began to snap
and crack in the best kind of a blaze. Ken-
tigern laughed softly to himself as he stole

AND THE ROBIN 8i

back to bed, and said never a word to the
sleeping boys who had tried to make mis-
chief for him.

When they woke in the morning they
began to chuckle and nudge one another,
expecting every moment to see Saint Servan
come frowning in search of the careless Ken-
tigern. And every boy was ready to declare
that the fire was burning brightly when he
went to bed, and that Kentigern had forgot-
ten to go down and tend it at midnight. But
they were prevented from telling this false-
hood. For the bell rang as usual for break-
fast, and down they all went to find a beauti-
ful fire burning on the hearth, and Kentigern
going with his taper to light the chapel
candelabra. They did not know how it
had happened till long, long afterwards when
Kentigern had made many other wonders
come to pass, and when he was known far
and wide as a Saint even wiser than Servan
his master.

But meanwhile the boys hated him more
than ever, when they saw how much better
Saint Servan loved him every day. And
once more they planned to bring him into

82 SAINT KENTIGERN

disgrace. But this time it was an even more
cruel thing which they meant to do. For if
they succeeded it would not only cause
Kentigern to be punished and make Saint
Servan unhappy, but it would cost the life
of an innocent little creature who never had
done any .harm to a single one of them.

Saint Servan was a kind-hearted old man,
and he had a Robin Redbreast of which he
was very fond, — a black-eyed fellow who ate
his breakfast out of the Saint's hand. And
when the master chanted the Psalms the little
chorister would perch on Servan's shoulder
and flap his wings, twittering as if he were
trying to join in the songs of praise.

Now one morning when the coast was
clear, the boys killed the little Redbreast and
pulled off his head. And then the biggest
boy of them all took the dead bird in his
hand, and followed by all the rest ran scream-
ing to Saint Servan himself, pretending to
feel very sorry.

" Oh Father ! " cried the Big Boy, "just see
what the wicked Kentigern has done I Look
at your Robin whom Kentigern has killed ! "

Then they all began to cry out against

AND THE ROBIN 83

Kentigern, and some even declared that they
had seen him do the wicked deed ; which was
a horrid story, and their tongues must have
smarted well as they spoke it.

Of course Saint Servan was very sad and
angry. He tenderly took the little limp body
in his hand and went to seek Kentigern, the
other boys tiptoeing after him to see the fun.
And by and by they came upon him in a
window bending over a big book which he
was studying. Saint Servan strode up to him
and laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

" Look at this, boy," he cried with a sad
voice, " look at this cruel deed, and tell me
what shall be done to punish the slayer ? Did
I not love the Robin, even as I loved you,
ungrateful boy I "

Kentigern turned quite pale with surprise
and sorrow, and the tears came into his
eyes.

" Oh, the dear little bird," he said. " Did
I not love him too ? Who has killed him.
Father '? "

" You did, you did ; we saw you ! " cried
all the boys in a chorus.

Kentigern turned and looked at them in

84 SAINT KENTIGERN

astonishment. He did not say a word, but
his cheeks grew red and his eyes flashed.
This was more than even his patience could
stand.

" Well, what have you to say for your-
self?" queried Saint Servan sternly. Kenti-
gern turned to him sadly.

" Oh Father ! " he said, " how can you be-
lieve that I would do such a cruel thing, to
hurt the bird and to make you sad ? I did
not do it, Father."

" Can you prove it ? " asked Saint Servan
still more sternly, for he thought the boy was
telling a falsehood to hide his guilt.

" Give me the Robin, Father," said Kenti-
gern, holding out his hand. " I will prove that
it was not this hand which cowardly used so
small a thing as a tiny bird." Then holding
the limp body in one hand and the downy
head in the other, he stood before them all,
looking up towards heaven, and made his
little prayer.

"O Father in heaven," he said, "prove
to my dear Father on earth that I have not
done this cruel thing. If I am innocent,
give me power to undo the wrong and restore

AND THE ROBIN

85

^

w'' r

III WXM

^m

Pfl iiiKii f /^

f\f\

V ^ jJ

) // ff /

) 1

^11

(^1

)■/( if M

.A

1

1

^~^-^^<^^W W

ite;»»^^ T

SAINT I

CENTIGE

RN

&

TH

E ROBIN

life to the little singer who loved to praise
Thee with his sweet voice." Then gently he
set the head in place where it should be and,
as his tears fell upon the Robin's neck, it

86 SAINT KENTIGERN

seemed to grow again to the body. The
feathers ruffled and the limp wings fluttered
feebly ; the black eyes opened, and out of
the bill came a little chirp. Then the Robin
hopped out of Kentigern's hands and across
the floor to Saint Servan's feet, and flew up
on his master's shoulder. There he sat and
sang such a carol of joy as made the great hall
ring again. But all the guilty boys put their
fingers in their ears and turned pale, as if they
understood what he was saying, and as if it
told the truth about their jealousy and their
cruelty and their falsehood.

So Saint Servan learned that Kentigern
was innocent, and saw how it had all hap-
pened. The real culprits were severely pun-
ished. But Kentigern became even dearer
than before to his master, who helped him in
every way to become the great and famous
Saint he afterwards was. And the Robin was
another fond and faithful friend. For the
bird seemed never to forget that Kentigern
had restored his life, and always sang his
sweetest song for the boy.

You may be sure that after this the boys
gave up trying to get the better of Kenti-

AND THE ROBIN 87

gem. They had learned that lesson, and
thenceforth they were more kind and re-
spectful to a boy over whom some kind
Power seemed to keep special charge.

SAINT BLAISE AND HIS
BEASTS t t t t t t t

THIS is the story of a Saint who loved
all animals and whom the animals
therefore loved in return.
Saint Blaise was the son of wealthy people
in Sebaste, a town of Armenia near Turkey,
in the days when it was fashionable to be a
heathen. He was not like the other boys, his
playmates, for he was a Christian, full of sym-
pathy for everything that lived. More than
all things he longed to learn how to help the
creatures that he loved, — men and women,
the children, the dumb beasts, and everything
that suffered and was sick. So he went to
school and studied medicine ; and by and
by he grew up to be a wise man with a big,
tender heart. Every one loved him, for he did
great good among the people of his village,
tending their children and healing their cattle
and household pets.

Nor did he neglect even the wild beasts.
For Saint Blaise loved to go away into the
woods and fields where he could learn about
the untamed creatures and teach them to be

SAINT BLAISE 89

his friends. The birds and beasts and fishes
grew to love him because he never hurt them,
but talked to them kindly and healed them
when they were sick or wounded. The timid
creatures were brave in his presence, and the
fierce ones grew tame and gentle at the sound
of his voice. The little birds brought him
food, and the four-footed beasts ran errands
and were his messengers. The legends say
that they used to visit him in his forest home,
which was a cave on Mount Argus near the
city of Sebaste. Every morning they came
to see how their master was faring, to receive
his blessing and lick his hands in gratitude.
If they found the Saint at his prayers they
never disturbed him, but waited in a patient,
wistful group at the door of his cave until he
rose from his knees.

One day a poor woman came to him in
great distress because a wolf had carried
away her pig. Saint Blaise was sorry to hear
that one of his friends had done so wicked
a thing. He bade the woman go home, and
said he would see what could be done. He
called the Wolf up to him and shook his head
gravely at the culprit.

90 SAINT BLAISE

" You bad Wolf! " he said. " Don't you
know that the Pig was a friend of mine, too ?
He is not handsome, but he is nice and
plump ; and he is the only pig of a poor,
lone woman. How could you be so selfish '?
Go straight home and get my friend Pig,
and drive him down to the woman's house."
Then the Wolf went sheepishly away, and
did what the good Saint had told him to do ;
for the Pig had not yet been made into pork.
And when the poor woman saw the Pig run
grunting into her yard, chased by the repent-
ant Wolf, she fell upon his fat neck and wept
tears of joy. Then the Wolf went back to
Saint Blaise, who told him he was a good
wolf, and gave him a dish of fresh milk to
cool his throat.

Saint Blaise was chosen Bishop by the
Christians who loved him for his piety and
his charity. And the wood-beasts were glad
of this honor done to their dear master. But
the poor creatures did not know how dan-
gerous it was to be a Christian in those days,
and especially to be a Bishop who had much
power over the people. For the heathen
were jealous of him, and feared that he would

AND HIS BEASTS 91

make all the people Christians too, when
they saw the wonderful cures which his medi-
cines made. But they could not find him, for
he was living in his forest cave.

This was 3 1 6 years after Christ's birth, and
the cruel Emperor Licinius was causing many
Christians to be killed. Agricola was the
governor whom Licinius had appointed in
Sebaste, and he sent his soldiers into the
mountains to get some wild beasts for the
games in the arena, where the Christians
were to be put to death. But they could not
find any beasts at all in the mountains, or in
the fields, or valleys, or woods. They thought
this very strange. But by and by they came
by accident to the cave where Saint Blaise
lived.

And there were the animals, all the fierce
beasts whom they feared; lions, tigers, leop-
ards, bears, and wolves, making their morn-
ing call upon Saint Blaise and sitting qui-
etly about. In the midst was Blaise himself,
praying so earnestly that he never noticed the
men with nets and spears who had come to
entrap the beasts. Although the creatures
were frightened they did not move nor growl

92 SAINT BLAISE

for fear of disturbing their master, but kept
quite still, glaring at the soldiers with big
yellow eyes. The men were so astonished at
the sight that they stole away without cap-
turing an animal or saying a word to Saint
Blaise, for they thought he must be Orpheus
or some heathen god who charmed wild
beasts. They went to the Governor and told
him what they had seen, and he said, —

" Ho ! I know he is a Christian. The
Christians and the beasts are great friends.
Go and bring him to me straightway."

And this time the soldiers went in the
afternoon when the animals were taking their
after-dinner nap. So they found Saint Blaise
quite alone^ again at his devotions. They
told him he must come with them; but in-
stead of being frightened he said joyfully,
*' I am ready, I have long expected you."
For he was a holy man willing to die for his
faith, and holy men often knew what was
going to happen to them.

It was on his way to prison that Saint
Blaise cured his last patient, — a sick child
whose mother brought him to the holy man's
feet begging help. The child had swallowed

AND HIS BEASTS 93

a bone and was choking to death, poor Kttle
thing. But Saint Blaise touched the baby's
throat and the trouble was gone. This is why
in olden times people with sore throats always
prayed to Saint Blaise to make them well.

The good Bishop was put in prison. And
after that they tortured him, trying to make
him promise not to be a Christian any longer.
But Saint Blaise refused to become a heathen
and to sacrifice to the gods. And so they
determined that he must die. They would
have put him in the arena with the wild
beasts, but they knew that these faithful
creatures would not harm their friend. The
beasts could not save him from the cruel
men, but at least they would not do anything
to hurt him. Those which were still left in
the forest howled and moaned about his de-
serted cave, and went sniffing and searching
for him everywhere, like stray dogs who have
lost their master. It was a sad day for the
wood-creatures when Saint Blaise was taken
from them forever.

The soldiers were told to drown Saint
Blaise in the neighboring lake. But he made
the sign of the Cross as they cast him from

94 SAINT BLAISE

the boat, and the water bore him up, so that
he walked upon it as if it were a floor, just
as Christ did once upon the sea of Gahlee.
When the soldiers tried to do the same, how-
ever, thinking to follow and recapture him,
they sank and were drowned. At last of his
own free will Saint Blaise walked back to
the shore, clothed in light and very beautiful
to look upon ; for he was ready and eager to
die. He let the heathen seize him, and soon
after this was beheaded.

In very old times it used to be the custom
in England on the third of February to light
great bonfires on all the hills, — blazes in
honor of his name.

And we can well believe that all the little
animals came out of their dens and burrows
and nests at the sight of these fires, and
thought with loving hearts of the dear old
Saint who so many years ago used to be kind
to their ancestors, the beasts in the forests of
Armenia.

SAINT CUTHBERT S
PEACE t t t t t t t

SAINT CUTHBERT was a Scotch
shepherd boy who tended his flocks
along the river Tweed near Melrose.
Night and day he lived in the open air,
drinking in the sunshine and sleeping on the
heather. And he grew up big and strong and
handsome, — the finest lad in all that part of
the country. He could run faster than any
one, and was always the champion in the
wrestling matches to which he challenged
the village boys for miles around. And you
should have seen him turn somersaults and
walk on his hands I No one in all the world
could beat him at that. Saint Cuthbert lived
more than a thousand years ago, and yet the
people of Scotland still tell tales of his
strength and agility and grace in games with
the other boys. He was their leader and
chief, and every one was sure that he would
grow up to be a famous man.

But he tended his sheep faithfully until
the time came. For he was growing and
learning all the while. In his happy outdoor

96 SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE

life he became wise in many things which
other people never know. He found the
secret of the whispering wind, and the song
of the brook. He knew what the chatter of
the squirrels meant, and the caw of the crows.
He learned the ways of all the little bright-
eyed animals whom he met in his walks over
the hills of heather; and he grew to love
every creature which has fur or feathers and
goes upon four legs or on two. Especially he
loved the birds. He used to watch them for
hours together, the little larks gurgling up
and trilling down again ; the great gulls
swooping and curling and sailing like white
ships in the blue sea of sky. And he longed,
oh ! how he longed to have wings and to
flutter and float away like the birds.

One night while he lay watching his sheep
upon the pink heather which bears you up
like a springy cushion, he saw a strange thing
in the sky. There seemed a great pathway
of light, and down it a band of angels came
from heaven, clothed all in rainbow glory.
And in a little while he saw them mounting
back again, bearing a beautiful blossom
among them. And he guessed that it was

SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE 97

SAINT CUTHBERT'S VISION

the soul of some holy man, being carried to
Paradise.

Sure enough, the next day the news went
abroad that Aidan, the holy Bishop of Lin-

98 SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE

disfarne, had died that very night. Then
Cuthbert knew that he, a Httle shepherd boy,
had been blessed to see a holy vision. He
wondered why ; but he felt sure that it meant
some special grace to him. Day after day,
night after night, he thought about it, won-
dering and wondering. And at last he made
up his mind that he, too, would become a
holy man, and then perhaps he should find
out all about it.

He was fifteen years old when he came to
Melrose Abbey to be made a monk. And
there he lived and grew rich with the wisdom
of books ; which, added to the wisdom of the
woods and hills and streams which he already
possessed, made him a very wise man indeed.

He had not been there long before every
one, even the Abbot himself, saw that this
glorious young monk was the most powerful
of them all. Every one obeyed and rever-
enced him. Every one came to ask his advice
and help. Every one sent for him in time of
trouble. With his beautiful face and strong
body, his kind eyes and great hands tender
as a woman's to touch a little sick child, he
was loved by the people in all the country

SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE 99

around. For he had the great gift of sym-
pathy. In those years while he had hved
under the kind, hot sun his heart had grown
mellow and soft like a ripe apple.

Many of the people in the far-off hills and
lonely Scotch moorlands were like savages,
wild and timid, hating every stranger. But
the hearts of these poor children of the hea-
ther warmed to the big brother who came
among them with love shining in his eyes
and a desire to help them. He used to
trudge into the wildest, most distant places
to reach them, to teach and comfort them.
He was always carrying food and clothing
to the poor and medicine to the sick, for he
could not bear to see others suffer. But he
was not afraid of suffering himself

One thing Cuthbert used to do which
showed how strong and healthy he was.
Even until he grew to be quite an old man
he used to take a bath in the sea every day
of his life. No matter how cold it was he
would plunge into the waves and come out
all dripping upon the frozen beach, where he
would always kneel and say a little prayer
before going home.

loo SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE

One bitter night in winter as Cuthbert
knelt thus in the snow after his plunge, blue
with cold, two brown otters came up out of
the sea and stole to Cuthbert's side. And as
he prayed, not noticing them at all, they
licked his poor frozen feet, trying to warm
them, and rubbed against him with their
thick, soft fur till he was dry again. Thus
the water-creatures did their little best for
him who loved them and who had done so
much for others.

When the Abbot Boswell died Cuthbert
became head of the Abbey in his place. But
after twelve years of living indoors with the
other monks he could bear it no longer. For
he longed to get out into the fresh air and
under the sky once more. He resolved to
become a hermit, and to live a wild outdoor
life with the birds whom he loved.

He built his nest on a wild little island
named Fame, a steep, rocky sea-mountain
where ten or fifteen years before had lived
that same holy Aidan whose passage to hea-
ven he had witnessed when he was a shep-
herd boy at Melrose. The nest was really a
hole in the ground — you know some birds

SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE loi

build so. He dug himself a round cell in the
rock, the roof having a window open to his
dear sky. The walls were of turf and stone
and it was thatched with straw. There were
two rooms, one where he lived and slept and
cooked ; the other for his little chapel, where
he sang praises like any bird and sat for hours
thinking holy thoughts. Before the door he
hung an ox-hide, and this was his only pro-
tection from the winds of the sea. He found
a spring in the rock and this supplied him
with water ; and he planted a plot of barley
which yielded him food.

Thus he lived, alone with the birds which
swarmed about the rock. The winds swept
over him and the waves curled and broke
almost at the door of his hut, but he did not
care. Indeed, the sea was a rough friend to
him. Once when by mistake it came too near
and washed away part of the cottage, Cuth-
bert sent to his brother monks on the main-
land, asking them to bring him a beam to
prop up the roof, for there was no wood on
his rocky isle. But this the brothers forgot
to do. The sea, however, seemed sorry for
having been so careless, and at the next high

I02 SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE

tide it washed up at the Saint's feet the beam
he wished.

He did not lack for friends. For, as soon
as he made this island rock his home, it be-
came the haunt of every kind of bird. The
other animals could not reach him from the
shore, poor things. But the blessed wings of
the gulls and curlews, the eider-ducks and
the ravens, bore them to their Master in his
retreat.

" Hi I " they said to one another, " we
have got him to ourselves now. Those poor,
featherless creatures can't come here, neither
can he get away, without wings. He is all
our own now ! "

This was not quite true, for they forgot
that though men cannot fly they make boats
with wings, and so can cross the sea. Cuth-
bert often went ashore to do errands of mercy,
in peasants' huts and in the Queen's palace.
And many people came to see him also, be-
cause his fame had spread over the kingdom.
He made them welcome to the house which
he had built for his guests as far as possible
from his own solitary cell. He loved them,
and helped them when he could. But after

SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE 103

all, the birds were his dearest friends, and he
liked best to be alone with them.

They would come and sit upon his shoul-
ders and knees and let him take them up and
caress them. They followed him in flocks
when he went to walk. They watched at the
door of his hut and ate breakfast, dinner, and
supper with him. Many people believed that
every day the birds brought him food from
Paradise, but this story arose, as so many
false stories do, from another thing that really
happened. For once when some blackbirds
thoughtlessly stole his barley and some of the
straw from his roof, Cuthbert scolded them,
and bade them never to do so again. It made
the birds ashamed, and to show that they
were sorry they brought him a great lump
of suet. He did not eat it, however, as they
expected he would, but used it to grease his
shoes with, and it lasted a long time.

Now Cuthbert loved all these birds dearly,
especially the unselfish eider-duck who picks
the down from her own breast to make a
softer bed for her little ones. He was kind
to them and they had no fear of him. But
he dreaded lest after he was gone others

I04 SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE

should be less kind to his pets. So to protect
them he made a promise, and he bequeathed
them a legacy, the gift of Saint Cuthberfs
Peace. He promised that no one should harm
or kill them on that island without being
dreadfully punished. And he gave them this
Peace for ever and ever. So that thenceforth
ill befell whoever injured one of Saint Cuth-
bert's birds. There are two stories to prove
this, and they both happened long after
Cuthbert was gone from Fame.

Now Liveing was the servant of ^Elric,
the hermit who next dwelt in Cuthbert's cell.
And one day while ^Iric was gone away to
the mainland, Liveing killed and ate one of
the eider-ducks who still lived and built their
nests near the hut where the Saint had lived.
Liveing knew the promise of Saint Cuth-
bert's Peace, but he thought that no one
would find out his crime. For he scattered
the bones and feathers over the cliff, and saw
them washed away by the waves. But after
^Elric, his master, came back, he found a
lump of bones and feathers rolled together
and cast by the tide upon the very steps of
his chapel. For even the sea was promised

SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE 105

to Saint Cuthbert's Peace, and had to betray
the guilty man. So Liveing was discovered
and punished.

And this is the second story. The birds
themselves were bound by the Peace to be
kind to one another. The big birds were for-
bidden to hurt or kill a little one. And this
is what happened to a great hawk who
flapped over from the neighboring island of
Lindisfarne and ate up the tame sparrow
which belonged to Bartholomew, another
hermit who lived after ^Iric at Fame. For
Saint Cuthbert's power made the hawk fly
for days around and around the island, never
able to get away, never able to stop, though
he was ready to drop with weariness and
hunger. He would have kept on flying until
now, or until he fell into the sea and was
drowned, if at last the hermit had not taken
pity upon him. Bartholomew caught the
tired hawk by his wings and carried him to
the seashore, and there in Saint Cuthbert's
name he bade him fly away, and never come
back to Fame to bother him and his peace-
ful birds.

So Saint Cuthbert lived on his island sur-

io6 SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE

rounded by his feathered friends. He never
grew proud, though every one loved and
reverenced him and called him a Saint. He
was always poor, although royal ladies, even
the Queen herself, made him presents of gold
and jewels, — which he gave away to the
needy. He was always meek, though Eg-
fried the King himself came all the way to
Fame to make him a grand Bishop, kneeling
on the ground before Cuthbert and begging
him to accept the gift. His life was like a
beacon to men, burning bright and clear.
And after he died a lighthouse was built on
his rock to be a spark of hope for the sailors
at sea.

As for Saint Cuthbert's Peace, it still
blesses the lonely rock of Fame. Flocks of
sea-birds swarm about it, descendants of those
who knew the Saint himself They are tame
and gentle and suspect no harm from any one,
for have they not the promise of their Saint ?
Alas ! Men less kindly than he have forgot-
ten the promise and have broken the Peace.
They have killed many of the trusting birds
who let them come up close and take them
in their hands, expecting to be petted. For

SAINT CUTHBERT'S PEACE 107

the birds never even thought to run away,
poor, innocent, soft-eyed creatures. And how
cruelly they were deceived I

But I am sure that Saint Cuthbert's dread-
ful charm still binds the murderers. He will
not forget his promise; and though they
may not be punished immediately, as Liveing
was, nor suffer like the wicked hawk. Saint
Cuthbert will bring sorrow upon their heads
at last and misfortune to the cruel hands
which dare to hurt his birds.

THE BALLAD OF SAINT
FELIX t t t t f t t

I

T was in sunny Italy

Where skies are blue and fair,
Where little birds sing all the day,
And flowers scent the air.

But sorrow was through all the land.

And bloody deeds, and strife,
Iw the cruel heathen Emperor

Was slaying Christian life.

And Nola of Campania

Was full of soldiers grim.
Who sought where good Saint Felix dwelt,

To be the death of him.

For he, the Bishop, old and wise.

Was famous far and near.
And to the troubled Christian folk

His name was passing dear.

Saint Felix would not run away,
But thought no shame to hide

Until the bloody storm passed o'er,
And he might safely bide.

BALLAD OF SAINT FELIX 109

And so he doffed his Bishop's robe.
And donned a Pilgrim's dress,

With hat and staff and sandal-shoon.
So none his name would guess.

Now as Saint Felix, bent and gray.
Was tottering down the street,

A band of soldiers, fierce and wild.
The old man chanced to meet.

•' Ho ! Pilgrim," cried the Captain stern.
Who stopped him with his sword,

■' Answer me truly, or thy life
Shall pay the lying word.

'' We sought for Felix at his home.
We find him not, alas I
Say, hast thou met him, for within
The hour he did pass ?

" Say, hast thou met him ? Tell us true,
Or thou shalt lose thy head."
Saint Felix looked him in the eyes,
" I met him not," he said.

So then the soldiers let him pass, —
But he had spoken truth, —

no BALLAD OF SAINT FELIX

And hurried forward on their search,
A fruitless quest, in sooth !

And good Saint Fehx hastened too.

As quickly as he might.
For they would guess full soon, he knew,

How he had tricked their sight.

And truly, ere his oaken staff

Had helped his feeble feet
To win a mile, he heard their shouts

A-nearing down the street.

He heard the clashing of their swords,

Their voices' cruel roar.
Alack I the chase was almost done,

For he could speed no more.

All breathless, worn, and clean forspent
He looked about him there ;

He spied a tiny ray of hope.
And made a little prayer.

There was a broken, ruined wall

That crumbled by the road.
And through a cleft Saint Felix crept.

And in a corner bode.

BALLAD OF SAINT FELIX iii

It was a sorry hiding-place,

That scarce could hope to 'scape

The keen sight of those bloody men,
For murder all agape.

But lo I in answer to his prayer

Made in the Holy Name,
To help Saint Felix in his need

A little spider came.

And there across the narrow hole
Through which Saint Felix fled,

The spider spun a heavy web
Out of her silken thread.

So fast she spun, so faithfully,
That when the soldiers came

To pause beside the ruined wall
And shout the Bishop's name.

They found a silken curtain there
Wherethrough they could not see;

And " Ho ! " they said, " he is not here.
Look, look I it cannot be ;

" No one has passed this spider's web
For many and many a day,

112 BALLAD OF SAINT FELIX

See, men, how it is thick and strong ; "
And so they went away.

And this is how Saint FeHx fared
To 'scape the threatened doom,

Saved by a Httle spider's web,
Spun from her wondrous loom.

For when the soldiers all had passed

It luckily befell,
Among the ruins of the walls

He found a half-dug well.

And there he hid for many months,

Safe from the eager eyes
Of all those cruel soldier-men

And money-seeking spies.

And on the eve when this thing happed,
It chanced a Christian dame

Was passing by the ruined wall
Calling her Bishop's name.

For well she knew he must be hid.
And came to bring him food ;

And so he answered from the well.
Saint Felix, old and good.

BALLAD OF SAINT FELIX 113

And for the many weary months

She came there, day by day.
All stealthily to bring him bread.

So no one guessed the way.

And when at last the peace was made.

Saint Felix left his well.
What welcome of his folk he had

There are no words to tell !

SAINT FRONTO'S CAM-

THIS is a story of Egypt. In the
midst of a great yellow sea of sand
was a tiny green island of an oasis.
Everywhere else the sunlight burned on sand
and rocks and low, bare hills to the west.
But here there was shade under the palm-
trees, and a spring of cool, clear water. It
seemed a pleasant place, but the men who
were living here were far from happy. There
was grumbling and discontent ; there were
sulky looks and frowns. Yet these men were
trying to be holy hermits, to live beautiful
lives and forget how to be selfish. But it is
hard to be good when one is starving.

There were seventy of them in this lonely
camp in the desert, — seventy hungry monks,
who for many days had had only a few olives
to eat. And they blamed one man for all
their suffering. It was Fronto who had in-
duced them to leave the pleasant monastery
at Nitria, where the rest of their brethren
were living in peace and plenty. It was
Fronto who had led them into this miserable

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS 115

desert to serve God in solitude, as holy men
loved to do in the early days of Christendom.

Fronto was a holy man, full of faith and
courage. He had promised that they should
be fed and cared for in the desert even though
they took no care for themselves, and they
had believed him. So each monk took a few
olives in his pouch and a double-pronged
hoe to dig and plant corn with, and followed
Fronto into the desert.

After trudging many days they found
this spot, far to the east, where no caravans
would come to interrupt them, for it was out
of the way of travel. But soon also they
found their provisions gone and no others
forthcoming. What were they to do "? They
asked Fronto, but he only bade them be
patient. It was when they had borne the
pangs of hunger for several days that they
began to grumble and talk of returning
home. But Fronto was indignant. " The
Lord will provide," he said, " O ye of little
faith ! " And he bade them go to work and
try to forget their hunger. The monks drew
the cords tighter about their waists. But that
did little good. They had never fasted like

ii6 SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS

this before ! Day by day they grew more
pale and thin, and their long robes flapped
about their lean limbs. The few dates which
grew on the palm-trees of their oasis were
long since eaten, and the poor monks went
about chewing the knotted ends of their rope
girdles, trying to pretend that it was bread.
Oh, how they longed for even a bit of the
hard black bread which was Lenten fare at
the monastery beyond the hills !

Day by day they grew more hollow-
cheeked and despairing. At last one even-
ing they came to Fronto in a body — such a
weak, pale body. " Take us back to Nitria,
or we starve I " they cried. " We can endure
this no longer ! "

Fronto stood before them even more pale
and worn than the rest, but with the light of
beautiful trust in his eyes. " Wait yet a little
longer, brothers," he begged. " We are bid-
den to take no thought to the morrow, what
we shall eat and drink " —

" Nay, 't is to-day we think of," interrupted
the monks. " If we could eat to-day we would
indeed take no thought of the morrow. But

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS 117

" Patience, brothers," continued the Saint
wearily. " If we return now we shall show
that we distrust God's promise. Wait till
to-morrow. If help come not then, I give ye
leave to go, without me. I shall not return."

The monks withdrew, still grumbling and
unhappy. But the words of the Saint had
made some impression, and they agreed to
wait until morning. Each monk stretched
himself on his goatskin mat on the floor of
the little cell which he had dug in the sand.
And with groans of hunger mingled in their
prayers they tried to go to sleep and forget
how long it was since their last breakfast.

But Fronto could not sleep. He was sad
and disappointed because his brothers had
lost their faith, and because he felt alone,
deserted in this desert by the friends who
should have helped him with their sympathy
and trust. All night he knelt on his goatskin
mat praying that the Lord would fulfill His
promise now, and prove to the doubting
monks how mistaken their lack of faith had
been. The other monks slept a hungry sleep
about him, dreaming of delicious things to
eat. Now and then one of them would cry

ii8 SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS

out : " Another help of pudding, please ; " or
" Brother, will you pass the toast *? " or " Thank
you, I will have an egg, brother." And
Fronto wept as he heard how faint their
voices were.

At last the pink fingers of morning began
to spread themselves over the face of the sky,
pinching its cheeks into a rosy red. Sud-
denly Fronto, who was on his knees with his
back to the door of his cell, started. Hark I
what sound was that which came floating on
the fresh morning air ^ Surely, the tinkle of
a bell. The good Saint rose from his mat and
went hastily to the door, his sure hope send-
ing a smile to his pale lips and color to his
hollow cheek. He knew that his prayer was
answered. And lo I away in the northwest
he saw a thread of black, crawling like a
caterpillar over the sand toward his oasis.
Nearer and nearer it came; and now he
could see plainly what it was, — a line of
great rocking camels, the little tinkling bells
on whose harness gave the signal that hope
was at hand.

But the sound had waked the other monks.
With a cry of joy they came tumbling out

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS 119

of their cells and rushed toward the camels,
which were now close to the camp. How the
poor monks ran, to be sure, many of them
tripping over the skirts of their long robes
and falling flat in the sand from their weak-
ness and excitement. They were like men
on a sinking ship who had just caught sight
of a rescuing sail. Some of them jumped up
and down and clapped their hands like chil-
dren, they were so glad. And tears stood in
the eyes of nearly all.

There were seventy camels, soft-eyed gen-
tle creatures, whose flat feet held them up
on the soft sand like snowshoes. They bore
packs upon their backs which promised good
things, and they came straight to the cell of
Fronto, where they stopped. And what a wel-
come they received I The monks threw their
arms about the beasts' necks, as they knelt
on the sand, and kissed the soft noses as
though they were greeting long-lost brothers.
They were so glad to see the camels them-
selves that they almost forgot to wonder
whence they came, or what they were bring-
ing. But Fronto was looking for their owner,
for the man who drove them. There was no

I20 SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS

one to be found. They had come all alone
across the desert, without any one to guide
them. Fronto's face was full of joy. " The
Lord has sent them ! " he said. And the other
monks bowed their heads, and were ashamed
because they had doubted.

Hungry though they were, first of all the
good monks tended the tired beasts who had
come so far to save them. They relieved
them from their heavy loads, and tenderly
washed their hot, weary feet, and gave them
draughts of the spring water. Some of the
starving monks skurried away to gather the
green grass of the oasis for their hungry
friends, and others unfastened the bales of
hay which some of the camels had brought,
and made beds for the animals to lie on.
Then they all fell to and built a fold for the
seventy camels in the shade of the palm-trees.
And here they left the patient creatures to
rest and chew their cud with a sigh of relief
that the long, hot journey was over.

Then the monks hurried back to Fronto,
wondering if it were not now almost time
for their breakfast. They came upon him
reading a letter which he had found on the

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS 121

harness of the foremost camel. It was written
from the city of Alexandria, and it explained
how the camels had been sent.

Four nights before this, Glaucus, the rich
merchant, had been resting on a couch in his
summer house. He had just finished an ex-
cellent dinner, with all his favorite fishes and
meats and fruits and sweets, and he was feel-
ing very happy. When suddenly he thought
of the seventy monks who had gone out from
Nitria many days before to live in the desert
with the help which the Lord should send.
And a pang smote him. Perhaps they were
starving now, while he was feasting. And
he wished he could help them to a dinner
as good as his. Ha! an idea came to him.
Why should he not indeed send them a din-
ner — many dinners ? It should be done.

So the next morning he had loaded seventy
camels with provisions, five of them with
bales of hay for the camels themselves. And
taking them to the border of the desert, with-
out driver or any one to guide them, he had
sent them out into the sea of sand, the great
ships of the desert, to find the right harbor by
themselves. For somehow he felt sure that

122 SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS

the Lord would guide them safely to the
monks. Here the letter of Glaucus ended.

Oh, how good that breakfast tasted to the
poor, famished monks ! There were all kinds
of fruit, — fresh figs and olives and dates,
citrons and juicy grapes and yellow pome-
granates. There were bread and oil which
the monks loved, and nuts and combs of the
most delicious golden honey such as it makes
one's mouth water to think of. Glaucus had
sent them a breakfast fit for a king. And they
all sat down on the sand in a happy circle
and had the finest picnic that was ever seen
in that desert.

When they had eaten they went out once
more to visit the camels who had saved their
lives, and to thank them with caressing
words. The camels seemed to understand,
and looked at them with gentle eyes, chew-
ing their cud earnestly as if thinking : " You
see, the Lord was looking out for you all the
time. We are only poor, dumb beasts ; but
we came straight to you across the desert
without any fear or wandering, because we
trusted. Why were you not trustful, too ? "

And again the monks were very much

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS 123

ashamed, and went back to Fronto to beg
his forgiveness, promising never again to be
faint-hearted nor to lose faith.

The next morning they made ready to
send back the camels to Alexandria. For
they knew Glaucus would be anxious to
hear how his ships of the desert had fared
on their errand. And half the provisions they
returned, for they had more than enough to
last them a year, according to their simple
meals. Then, with tears in their eyes, the
monks sent the great beasts forth again into
the desert, confident that as they had come so
they would find their way back to Alexandria,
safe and sound. Each in his cell door the
monks stood and watched them slowly wind-
ing away over the yellow sand, disappearing
at last behind the hills which rose like great
waves between them and the world of cities.

Now it was eight days since Glaucus had
sent out the camels, and he was growing
uneasy. Seventy camels are a valuable pro-
perty, which even a rich man could not aflford
to lose. Glaucus feared that he had been
foolish ; the desert was full of robbers, and
there was no one to protect this leaderless

124 SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS

caravan. Would the Lord take care of affairs
which were left wholly to His direction ?

Glaucus was sitting with his family in th(
garden, silent and gloomy. His family felt
that he had been rash, and they did not hesi-
tate to tell him so, which made him still more
unhappy. The leader-camel was the favorite
of Glaucus's daughter, ^Emilia. She was cry-
ing in a corner of the garden, thinking about
her dear Humpo, whom she never expected
to see again. When, just as Fronto had done,
she heard a far-away tinkle. She jumped up
and ran out to the road.

" What is it, JEmilia, my child ? " called
out her father, startled by her sudden move-
ment.

" Oh, Father, Father ! " she cried. " I think
I hear the tinkle of a camel bell among the
mountains I " And sure enough. As they all
hurried down to the garden gate the sound
of little bells drew nearer and nearer. And
presently came in sight the line of seventy
camels, Humpo at the head, half of them
loaded with the provisions which the monks
were too unselfish to keep. And soon ^Emi-
lia had her arms about the neck of her dear

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS 125

Humpo, and was whispering nice things into
his floppy ears as he knelt before her, look-
ing lovingly at her with his big brown eyes.
Thus it was that Glaucus, the good rich
man, knew that the Lord was pleased with
him for his kindness, and had helped him to
do his duty. And every year after that he
sent the seventy camels forth into the desert
on their unguided errand to the far-off oasis.
So they grew to be dear friends of Saint
Fronto and his monks, looked for as eagerly
as Santa Claus is at Christmas time.

THE BLIND SINGER,

SAINT HERVE t t t

I.

ONCE upon a time when Childebert
was King of France, a thousand
years ago, there lived a young man
named Hyvarnion who was very handsome
and had the sweetest voice. Hyvarnion was
the King's minstrel; he lived at the palace
and it was his business to make music for the
King to keep him in a good temper. For he
wrote the most beautiful songs and sang them
to the accompaniment of a golden harp which
he carried with him everywhere he went. And
besides all this Hyvarnion was very wise ; so
wise that when he was a boy at school he was
called the Little Sage, for Saint Cadoc had
been his master and had taught him many
things that even the King, who was a hea-
then, did not know.

Now Hyvarnion had lived four years with
the King when one night he had a wonder-
ful dream. He dreamed that he saw a beau-
tiful maiden picking flowers in a meadow,
and that she smiled at him and gave him a

SAINT HERVE 127

blossom, saying, " This is for my King." And
Hyvarnion woke up longing to see the
maiden more than anything else in the world.

For three nights he dreamed the same
dream, of the singing maiden and the mea-
dow and the flowers; and each time she
seemed more beautiful than on the last. So
on the fourth day he woke up and said, " I
must find that maiden. I must find her and
hear her call me her King."

So, taking his golden harp on his back, he
went out from the palace and struck into the
deep black forest. By and by he came to an
open place, like a meadow, where the grass
grew tall and thick, and where in the midst
was a spring like a bit of mirror set in a green
frame. And Hyvarnion's heart beat fast with
joy when he saw on the border of the spring
the very maiden about whom he had dreamed,
but much more beautiful than any dream.
She was bending over, picking something
from the grass, and she seemed like a won-
derful pink-and- white flower set among the
other flowers of yellow and red and blue.

For a moment Hyvarnion stood and gazed
with open mouth and happy eyes. Then he

128 THE BLIND SINGER

took his harp and began to sing a song which
he had just that minute made. For because
he was a minstrel it was easier for him to sing
than to talk. And in the song he called her
Queen Iris gathering flowers for her crown.
Then the maiden raised her head and she
turned pinker and whiter, and looked even
more like a fair flower than before. For she
too had had a dream, three times. And it
was of golden-haired Hy varnion that she had
dreamed, whom she now saw looking at her
and singing so sweetly with his silver voice.

But she also answered him in a song, for
she was a singer, too. " I am no Queen Iris,"
she sang, " I am only the little maiden Riva-
none, though they call me Queen of this
Fountain. And I am not gathering flowers
as you say, fair Sir, but I am seeking simple
herbs such as wise men use to cure pain and
trouble."

" What are the herbs you seek, Riva-
none *? " asked Hyvarnion, coming nearer.
She held up a sprig of green in her white
hand. " See, this is the vervain," she answered
in song ; " this brings happiness and heart's
ease. But I seek two others which I have

SAINT HERVE

129

HYVARNION AND RIVANONE

not found. The second opens the eyes of the
bhnd. And the third, — few may ever find
that precious herb, — the third is the root of
Hfe, and at its touch death flees away. Alas !

I30 THE BLIND SINGER

Fair Sir, I cannot find those two, though some
day I feel that I shall need them both most
sorely." Rivanone sighed and two tears stood
like dewdrops in her flower eyes.

But Hyvarnion had now come very close.
" Still, you have found the first, which gives
happiness, little Queen," he sang tenderly.
" Have you not happiness to share with me,
Rivanone ? " Then the maiden looked up in
his eyes and smiled, and held out to him a
sprig of the green vervain.

" For my King," she sang, just as he had
dreamed. And then he did just what she had
dreamed he would do; but that is a secret
which I cannot tell. For no one knows all
that a maiden dreams.

And after this and that they came back to
the King's palace hand in hand, singing a
beautiful song which together they had made
about Happiness. So they were married at
the court, and the King did them great honor
and made them King and Queen of music
and of song.

So, happily they lived and happily they
sang in their little Kingdom of Poesie, — for
did they not possess the herb of joy which

SAINT HERVE 131

Rivanone had found and shared widi Hyvar-
nion, her King?

II.

BUT it was a pity that Rivanone had
not also found those other plants for
which she had been seeking, the root
which brings light to the blind, and the root
which gives life to the dying. Because Riva-
none had foreseen only too well the need of
them which would come to her. For when,
after a year or two, their little son was born,
his blue eyes were sightless and all the colored
wonders of the world were secrets which he
could never know. So they named him
Herve, which means Bitterness, — the first
bitterness which had come into their lives of
joy. But it was not the last. Not long after
the little Herve came, golden-haired Hyvar-
nion lay ill and dying. And because on that
spring morning, Rivanone had not found the
herb of life, she could not keep him from
going away to find it for himself in that fair
country where it is the only plant that grows,
with wonderful blossoms which no living man
has ever seen.

132 THE BLIND SINGER

So Hyvarnion passed away from his king-
dom of music and song, which he left to be
shared by dear Rivanone and Herve his Httle
son. Thus Herve became a Prince, heir to
all the gifts of that royal pair. And of these
there were in particular four of the best : a
beautiful face, the sweetest voice that ever
thrilled in Brittany, the golden harp of Hy-
varnion his father, and many a lovely song
made by those two, which Rivanone taught
him. What a wonderful Kingdom that was
to be his ! What beautiful gifts for a little
boy to own I

But even in a kingdom of this sort one
has to bear sorrows and discomforts, just as
folk do in other kingdoms which are less
fair. Herve's name meant bitterness, and
there was much bitterness in his little life
before he learned what a Prince he really
was. For he was blind and could not play
with the other children. Rivanone was a poor
widow and there was no one to earn bread
for the two. Sometimes the carols which they
sang together were the only breakfast to be-
gin the day. Sometimes the songs Rivanone
made beside his bed at night were the only

SAINT HERVE 133

food Herve had tasted since sunrise. Some-
times they were both so hungry that they
could not sing at all; and those were sad
times indeed.

But when Herve was seven years old a
great idea came to him. Rivanone lay ill and
miserable, and there was nothing to eat in the
house. Herve sat by her side holding her
hand, and wishing there was something he
could do about it. Blind as he was he had
never been out of the house alone. But sud-
denly courage came to him and hope, through
his great idea.

" I will save you, dear mother I " he cried,
throwing his arms about her neck. " I will
take father's golden harp and go out upon
the highway and sing your beautiful songs.
People will give me pennies, and I shall buy
you food."

So, carrying the golden harp on his back,
in his ragged clothes and bare feet the little
fellow went out stumbling and feeling his
way along the hard road. Now almost at
the first corner he met a white dog, who
seemed to have no master. This creature
came sniffing and whining up to Herve and

134 THE BLIND SINGER

licked his hand. And when the boy went
on the dog followed close at his side as if to
guide and protect him. Herve asked every
one he met whose dog it was ; but they all
said it was a strange dog come from No-
where, and belonged to No-one. It seemed
almost as if the beast had been sent especially
for Herve. So at last he said, " You shall
be my dog," and at that the great white
beast jumped up and barked for joy. Herve
fastened a rope about the dog's neck and
kept one end in his hand. So now he had
some one to guide and guard him, for the
dog was very careful and kind and took care
that Herve never stumbled nor went astray
into the ditch by the side of the road.

It must have been a hard-hearted man in-
deed who had no pennies to spare for the
blind boy led by the big white dog. With
his bare feet blue with cold, his teeth chat-
tering, and his eyes turned wistfully up to
the sky which he could not see, he was a sad
little figure to meet on the lonely Brittany
roads. And he sang so sweetly, too ! No
one had ever heard such a voice as that, nor
such beautiful songs. Every one who heard

SAINT HERVE 135

gave him money. So he was helping his
mother, getting her food and medicine and
clothes to keep her warm. And this thought
comforted him when he was shivering with
cold, his rags blown about by the wind and
soaked in the rain.

Day after day, week after week, Herve
trudged along the flinty roads. Often he
limped with cold, bleeding feet which the
faithful dog would try to lick warm again.
Often he was very tired, and sometimes he
was sad, when people were not kind. But
this seldom happened. Once Herve was
passing through a strange village where all
the folk were heathen. And a band of
naughty children began to dance about him
and tease him, pulling his hair and twitching
his cloak. And they mocked his music,
singing, " Blind boy, blind boy ! Where are
you going, blind boy ! " Then it is said that
a wonderful thing happened. Herve was
sorry because they were so cruel and unkind,
and he struck a strange chord of music on
his harp and sang in a low, clear voice, —

" Dance on, bright eyes who can see.
Dance on, children who mock a poor blind

136 THE BLIND SINGER

boy. Dance on, — and never stop so long
as the world wags." And it is said that the
wicked children are still dancing, over the
world and back, around and around, tired
though they must be. And they will be
still more tired before all is done. For they
must whirl and pirouette until the end of
the world ; and that is a long time even for
children who love to dance.

At a different time another unkind thing
happened to Saint Herve. But this time it
was a beast who hurt his feelings. And this
was strange; for usually the beasts loved
him and tried to help him as the white dog
had done. But after all this was only a mis-
take; yet it was a sad mistake, for it cost
Herve the life of his faithful guide. This is
how it happened.

As Herve and his dog were passing along
a lonely road, a black wolf sprang out upon
them. He mistook the dog for an ancient
enemy of his, another wolf For indeed
Blanco looked like a white wolf, — a wolf
such as Saint Bridget gave the King of Ire-
land. And without stopping to find out who
he really was, which would have saved all the

SAINT HERVE 137

trouble, they had a terrible fight, and poor
Blanco was killed by the huge black wolf.

Then Herve was sad indeed. He cried
and sobbed and was so wretched that the
wolf was sorry. Besides, as soon as the fight
was over the wolf had found out his mis-
take, and saw that it was a strange dog
whom he had killed, no wolf-enemy at all.
He was very much ashamed. He came up
to Herve and fawned at his feet, trying to
tell that he was sorry, and asking what he
should do about it. So Herve told him that
if he would be his dog now instead of Blanco
he would try to forgive the wolf; though he
was, oh, so sorry to lose his faithful dog.

After that Herve went on his wanderings
led by a big black wolf whom he held in a
strong leather leash. And the wolf became
as dear to him as Blanco had been. He
slept in the barn with the oxen when he was
at home, and never snapped nor bit at them as
most wolves would do. But he kept sharp
watch over his little master, and saw that no
one hurt or cheated him. I should be sorry
to think what would have happened to any
one who had dared to touch Herve while

138 THE BLIND SINGER

the wolf was near. And he was always near,
with his sharp teeth and watchful eyes.

So they wandered and wandered together,
Herve and the wolf, carrying music from
town to town, the songs of Hyvarnion and
Rivanone. But Herve had not yet learned
to make songs of his own.

III.

NOW after seven years of wandering,
Herve had earned money enough
to keep his mother in comfort. He
longed to go to school and be taught things,
to grow wise like his father, who had been
called the Little Sage, and to learn how to
make songs for himself For he felt that it
was time for him to come into the kingdom
of Hyvarnion and Rivanone ; and the songs
shut in his heart were bursting to come out.
Gourvoyed, the brother of Rivanone, was
a holy hermit who lived alone in the forest,
and he would teach Herve, his nephew, for
love of him. For Gourvoyed was a wise
man, skilled in all things, but especially in
the making of songs.

SAINT HERVE 139

It was a blessed morning when Herve
started for his school in the woods ; he was
going to his kingdom I The sunlight
framed his fair curls in a halo of light, as if
giving him a blessing. Birds sang all along
the way as if telling him that with Gour-
voyed he would learn to make music even
sweeter than theirs. The wolf led him
eagerly, bounding with joy ; for he shared
in all the hopes of Herve's life. And all the
creatures knew that he would become a great
poet. And so indeed it was.

For Herve soon learned all that Gour-
voyed could teach, and in his turn he be-
came a master. Many pupils came to the
hut in the forest which the hermit gave up
to him, and begged Herve to make them
singer-poets like himself But he could not
do that. He could teach them to sing and
to play the harp ; but no one could sing as
well as he sang, or play as well as he
played. And no one can ever be taught to
make poetry unless he has it in his soul, as
Herve had. For that is a royal gift, and it
came to Herve from Hyvarnion and Riva-
none, the King and Queen of music and of

I40 THE BLIND SINGER

song. It was Herve's kingdom, and it was
given him to take away the bitterness from
his name, to make it remembered as sweet,
sweet, sweet.

And now on his wanderings from town to
town Herve was received hke a prince. He
sat at great lords' tables, and sang in ladies'
bowers. He had golden goblets as his gifts,
and shining gems to wear if he chose. But
he was so generous that he gave them all
away. Never was there heard music so
sweet as his ; never were there songs so beau-
tiful as he sang to the rippling of his father's
golden harp. For Herve was even a greater
minstrel than Hyvarnion or Rivanone had
been.

In his wanderings all about the country
Herve came to many strange places and met
with many strange adventures. Once he
spent the night at the castle of a great lord
who made Herve sit on his right hand at
table and honored him above all his guests.
When the banquet was over, at the Count's
request a page brought to Herve his golden
harp, and they all shouted for "A song! a
song I " Every one pushed back his stool to

SAINT HERVE 141

listen, and Herve took the harp and ran his
finger over the golden strings with a sound
like drops of rain upon the flowers.

Now outside the castle, beyond the moat,
was a pond. And in the pond lived a whole
colony of great green bullfrogs, whose voices
were gruffer and grummer than the lowest
twanging note on Herve's harp. And as
soon as Herve began to sing these rude frogs
began to bellow and growl as if trying to
drown his music. Perhaps they were jeal-
ous; for Herve's voice was sweeter than a
silver bell. But all they could sing was
'' Kev-chog I Ker-r-kity-chog, Kev-chog I "
which is neither very musical nor very origi-
nal, being the same tune which all the frog-
people have sung from the earliest days.

Now Herve was displeased by their dis-
agreeable noise. He could not sing nor
play, nor think of the words which belonged
with his music : only the " K^T-chog !
Ker-r-kity-chog I ¥.tx-chog ! " sounded in
his ears. And it grew louder and louder
every moment as one by one all the frogs
joined in the chorus.

Herve waited for them to stop. But

142 THE BLIND SINGER

when he found that they did not mean to do
this, but were really trying to drown his
voice, he was very angry. He strode to the
window holding his harp in his hand. And
leaning far out he struck another of his won-
derful chords of music, such as had charmed
the mocking children once before, as you
remember.

" Sing your last song, O Frogs," he said.
" Sing your last K.CT-ckog, for henceforth you
will be silent. I command you from this
night never to open your mouths again.
All save one, the littlest of you all. And
he shall sing forever, without cease, to re-
mind you of your rudeness to me." And
no sooner had he ceased speaking when there
came a great silence outside the window,
broken only by one wee piping tadpole
voice. " K.ev-chog ! Ker-r-kity-chog ! Ker-
chog ! " he chanted his sad little solo. And
all alone he had to sing and sing this same
tune forever. I dare say one can hear him
yet in the greeny pond outside that old
French castle.

SAINT HERVE 143

IV.

NOW after many years of wandering,
of singing, of making beautiful
songs, of teaching and wandering
again, Herve's dear mother Rivanone died.
But he still had some one to love and look
for him and the wolf when he came home
from his travels. For Rivanone had adopted
a dear little girl named Christine, beautiful
as sunshine and sweet as a flower. She
called Herve " Uncle " and loved him dearly,
and the wolf was a great friend of hers.

So at last he thought to settle down and
make music about him in his own home,
letting people come there to hear it, instead
of carrying it to them by road and river.
For he was growing an old man, and it was
not so easy to travel in his blindness as it
used to be. Besides, the black wolf was
also growing gray, and needed rest after
these long years of faithful work.

Herve resolved to build a church, and to
live there with Christine near him in a little
house of her own. He had grown to be an
important personage in the world, and had
many friends, pupils, and followers who

144 THE BLIND SINGER

wanted to live near him. So forth they set
to find a place for their church, Herve and
his troop of black-robed monks. And be-
fore them, like a little white dove among
the ravens, ran Christine holding her uncle's
hand in one of hers, and in the other grasp-
ing the leash at which tugged the grizzled
old wolf, who was guiding them. Over
many a hill and dale and bloomy meadow
he had led Herve before now, down many a
lane and village street, but never upon so
important a journey as this. For this was
to be the old wolf's last long tramp with his
master. And the wolf was to choose the
spot where the church should stand. Where
he stopped to rest, there would they lay the
first stone.

So he led them on and on. And at last
he lay down in a green spot by a river, just
the place for a beautiful church to grow up.
And thenceforth Herve the minstrel would
wander no more, but bide and rest and be
happy with the wolf and Christine.

They built her an arbor near the church,
in a clump of willows on the border of a
spring. It was cone-shaped and covered

SAINT HERVE 145

with straw like a huge beehive. And
Christine herself seemed Uke a busy bee
gathering honey as she buzzed in and out
among the roses, humming httle tunes be-
low her breath. For she was always among
the flowers, as Rivanone had been. Every
Saturday morning she would rise early, and
with her little basket on her arm would go
out to pick the blossoms with the dew still
on them. And every Saturday evening she
came to the church with her arms full of
flowers till she looked like a bouquet of
sweetness. And going into the empty
church she would busy herself with arran-
ging the flowers for the next morning's ser-
vice. For it was her duty to see that Uncle
Herve's church was kept clean and sweet
and beautiful.

And while Christine stood there putting
the flowers into tall golden vases, singing
softly the songs which Rivanone had taught
her, her Uncle Herve would come creeping
up the steps of the church, his hand on the
head of the wolf, who always led him to
the place where he heard her voice. Softly,
very softly, as if he were doing something

146 THE BLIND SINGER

naughty, Herve would pull open the heavy
door, just a crack, the better to hear her sing.
Then he would put his ear to the opening ;
while the wolf would thrust his nose in be-
low, and wag his tail eagerly. But Chris-
tine's keen ears always heard them, no mat-
ter how slyly the good blind man crept up
to that door. And it became part of the
game that she should cry out suddenly, —

" I see you. Uncle 1 I see you ! " And
though he could not see her at all, he would
start and pop back, pulling the wolf with
him as though he had done something wrong.
Then without making any noise they would
tiptoe away to Herve's house, their hearts
beating with love for the dear little maiden
who would soon come to bid them good-
night on her way home to her bower.

So they lived happily all the rest of their
days, these three among the flowers. And
in spite of his name Herve's life was not one
of bitterness, but of joy. The kingdom
which had come to him from Hyvarnion
and Rivanone was his all his life long; and
though he no longer wandered painfully
from town to town, the songs which he made

SAINT HERVE 147

wandered still from heart to heart. And
long, long afterwards their echo made music
through the land of Brittany, as the fragrance
of a flower lasts long after the flower has
passed on its way elsewhere.
Dear Saint Herve I

SAINT COMGALL AND
THE MICE t t t t t t

AT the place where the Irish Sea is
narrowest is the town of Bangor.
There the green hills of Saint Pat-
rick's island smile over at the purple cliffs
of Scotland across the lane of water where
the ships pass to and fro, just as neighbors
nod across a narrow street above the heads
of the passers-by. And here at Bangor
Saint Comgall built a monastery, thirteen
hundred long years ago.

This does not sound very interesting, but
it was interesting to many people in those
days, and I think it will be interesting to
you. For Comgall is an Irish word which
means " the goodly pledge." And the man
who bore this name was a goodly pledge of
friendship between man and beast. Com-
gall had many pupils in his monastery, and
many friends living near who loved and
honored him. They did splendid things
together, and tales of their doings were put
into great books. But the most interesting
stories of all are about certain friends of

SAINT- COMGALL 149

Saint Comgall who could not speak Irish
and who did not wear clothes. Some of
these friends wore feathers and some wore
fur ; the strangest story of all is about his
friends with long tails and very sharp teeth.
But you must wait for that till I have told
about the swans.

One day Comgall was walking with some
friends on the bank of a pond. All of a
sudden, through the rushes and the tall grass
some one spied six beautiful white swans
floating on the water, preening their fine
feathers and arching their necks proudly.
For they could see in the water, just as if it
were a mirror, how handsome they were, and
it made them vain.

" Oh, Father," cried Comgall's pupils (they
always called their teacher " Father " in those
days), "see the lovely swans I May we not
coax them ashore ? We want to play with
them."

Comgall chuckled inside, for he felt sure
that the swans would not come to them, be-
cause they were strangers. But he said with
a twinkle in his eye, —

"Oh, yes, boys. Call them here if you

I50 SAINT COMGALL

can. But you must give them something
to tempt them, or I fear they will hardly
come."

Then the boys tried to find a crust of
bread or some crumbs in their pockets, to
throw to the swans. But no one had any-
thing, not even a peanut; for peanuts were
not invented in those days. They stood on
the bank whistling and calling, trying in
every way to make the swans swim ashore.
But the birds only cocked their red-rimmed
eyes at the boys and fluttered their wings
timidly.

"We don't know you," they squawked
with their harsh voices. " The like of you
are no friends of ours. Hurrooh ! Go away
and leave our pond in peace."

All this time Comgall had been standing
behind them on the bank laughing at the
vain attempts of his pupils. But now he
walked quietly down to the pond. Making
a little croony sound in his throat, he put
out his hand towards the swans, but with no
crumbs to tempt them.

The swans had never before seen him.
But as soon as they heard his voice you

AND THE MICE 151

should have seen the commotion I How
the water did wrinkle and spatter as those
dignified birds scurried headlong towards
Comgall I Each one seemed trying to be
the first to reach his side ; and each one
flapped his wings and went almost into a fit
for fear another should get ahead of him.
So finally they reached the bank and gath-
ered around Comgall, talking to him all at
once and telling him how much they liked
the look of him. And one great white swan
fluttered into the old man's lap and sat there
letting himself be stroked and patted, stretch-
ing his long neck up to Comgall's face and
trying to kiss him with beaky lips.

You can imagine how the pupils stared
at this strange sight. For they knew that
the swans were as truly strangers to Saint
Comgall as to the rest of them. But the
swans had guessed in some way that this
was a man who loved all animals, and that
is why they were not afraid, but loved him
as soon as they saw him.

But this next is the stranger story. Mice
are harder even than swans for most people
to get acquainted with. But Comgall had

152 SAINT COMGALL

also made the mice his friends, as you shall
see.

There came a time of famine in Ireland,
and there was not food enough to go around,
as has often happened there from the ear-
liest days until even now. Comgall and his
household at Bangor were very hungry.
But what made it hardest to bear was that
they knew where there was plenty of food
close by, if only they could get it. For
Croadh was a great Prince who lived in the
neighborhood, and Croadh had barns and
storehouses full of grain which could be
made into bread. But he was a selfish,
stingy man and would not give away or
even sell his stores, for he would rather see
the people starve. Now Croadh had a
wicked old mother living in his palace, who
was even more cruel than himself Her
name was Luch, and Luch means in Irish
" the Mouse." And it was her name which
put an idea into Comgall's head.

After sending all sorts of messengers to
beg Croadh to give them some of his grain ;
after trying all sorts of ways to make him
sell it, Comgall went himself to the Prince's

AND THE MICE 153

palace to see what he could do. He carried
with him a beautiful silver goblet which had
been given him by some one as a present,
and it was worth many bushels of grain.

Comgall strode into the Prince's hall and
stood before Croadh holding out the goblet
in his hand. And he said, —

"Here, O Prince, is a valuable thing.
We are starving in the monastery, and silver
we cannot eat. Give me and my monks
some of your golden grain and I will ex-
change for it the silver cup. Be merciful,

0 Croadh, and hear me."

But the Chief only laughed and said mock-
ingly, " Not so. You keep your silver gob-
let and I will keep my golden grain. Your
beggarly pupils shall not eat of my stores.

1 want all, every grain, for my old Mouse."
And by that word he meant his mother, the
black-eyed, wrinkled, gray old Luch, whose
name meant " the Mouse." For she was the
most miserly, wicked, old woman in the
world, and she had made him promise not
to give up any of the grain. Then Com-
gall was angry, because he saw that the
Prince meant to see the people starve.

154 SAINT COMGALL

" Very well," he said, fixing his eyes
sternly upon Croadh, " as you have said, so
shall it be. The mouse shall have your
grain." And drawing his robe about him
he strode home with the useless silver goblet.

As I have said, the mice were Comgall's
friends. He had only to call them and ex-
plain what the hard-hearted Prince had done ;
he had only to tell the mice what he wished
them to do, and the matter was settled.
The word spread through the kingdom of
the mice, carried by the quickest messenger
with the shortest tail. All the mice became
enemies of Croadh. And there were many
mice in Bangor in those days.

That very night when every one was asleep,
out of every hole and corner came peeping
little pointed noses and quivering whiskers.
And a great procession of long-tailed tiny
things formed into line and crept along, and
along, up the hill, and up the walls, and into
the barns of Croadh. A legion of mice,
thousands upon thousands of them in a gray-
uniformed army, pounced upon the Prince's
precious grain and ate up every kernel.

So the next morning when Croadh went

AND THE MICE 155

to his barns he found them empty. There
was not so much as a single yellow dot of
grain left anywhere. But out of every crack
and crevice peeped a pair of twinkling black
eyes which watched him saucily. Then
Croadh began to bellow and roar with anger,
and the wicked old woman Luch, his mo-
ther, came hobbling in to see what was the
matter. But when the mice saw her they
gave a chorus of fierce squeaks as if crying
" Mouse ! Mouse ! Mouse ! "

Then Croadh remembered what Comgall
had said, that the mouse should have his
grain after all. And he guessed what the
Saint had meant, and knew that Comgall
had taken this way to punish a selfish and
cruel man.

THE WONDERS OF
SAINT BERACH t t

THE life of Saint Berach was full of
wonders from the very first. For
when he was a boy at home in the
house of his father, Nemnald, he had a
vision. An angel appeared to him and
beckoned him to follow. So he went, and
the angel led him straight to the monastery
at Glendalough where holy Saint Coemgen
lived with his friend the white doe, and
taught boys to be wise. And Berach joined
the other boys to be taught all that Saint
Coemgen knew, and to learn other things
beside.

Ireland was a wild country in those days,
for this was only six hundred years after
Christ's birth and the little towns had hardly
begun to grow. The huts which men had
made in the wilderness — calling them
houses and schools and churches — were
not close together but far, far apart. Wild
beasts prowled everywhere, and there were
no policemen.

Close by the monastery were the broad

SAINT BERACH 157

green meadows where the monks pastured
the herds of cows which gave them milk.
From the windows of his cell the young
monk loved to watch the cows and their
calves browsing the juicy grass and wading
in the brooks which ran under the rows of
willows. He especially loved Bel, the sleek-
est, most beautiful of them all, a proud
mother cow who had a new little red calf

One day as he was watching Bel and her
baby who had strayed a little distance from
the rest of the herd, he saw something which
frightened him. A great gray wolf was hid-
ing in the shadow of a hedge, creeping
nearer and nearer to the peaceful pair. But
Bel did not guess that an enemy was so
near. Berach hurried down the turret stair
and out of the gate, hardly pausing to tell
the brother porter whither he was going.
For he knew there was no time to lose.

He ran to the meadow, and pushed through
the blooming hedge of hawthorne. But
alas I he had come too late. The great
gaunt wolf, who was very hungry, had
pounced upon the little red calf, and had
eaten it up. Poor Bel, wild with grief, ran

158 THE WONDERS OF

lowing about the pasture as if seeking for
her little one. But the wolf was slinking out
of sight.

When Berach saw what had been done,
at first he was very angry with the wolf, for
he loved Bel dearly, and it troubled him to
see her sad. He thought how lonely the
poor cow would be without her calf, and
when she came pitifully lowing up to him
as if asking him to help her, the tears stood
in his kind eyes. But then he thought how
hungry the wolf must have been. Poor
thing, how thin and hollow he had looked,
— perhaps he was not so much to blame
after all. Probably he had never been
taught any better.

And then a strange idea came to Berach.
He was a wonderful man, and he must have
had great power over animals. For he
called to the wolf, who was already some
distance away ; he called loudly and in a
stern voice. You will hardly believe it, but
the wolf came slinking back, frightened and
whining like a naughty puppy, and crouched
at Berach's feet. Then the Saint spoke
kindly to the wolf, no longer treating him

SAINT BERACH

59

like a murderer and a thief. He called the
cow also, and taking her by the horns led
her gently to the wolf, soothing her so that
she was not afraid of the great gray beast.

And Berach said to the cow, " See, Mother
Bel, this shall be your child now, in place
of the little one which is gone. He will be
a kind and gentle son to you, I promise."
And to the wolf he said, " Here, Wolf, is the
mother whom you need to make you gentle
and good. You shall be kind to her, and
make her forget the wrong you have done
by being a loving and dutiful son, ever do-
ing her bidding." So after that the cow and
the meek wolf dwelt peacefully together in
the meadows of the monastery, and he
shielded her from danger, and like a huge
watchdog kept away the other wild beasts
from the herd.

After that came a winter when for weeks
the ground was white with snow, and the
laughing mouths of the brooks were sealed
with ice. Duke Colman's little son had been
sent to school at the monastery, and the boy
was very ill. He was hot and thirsty, and
his throat was parched with fever. So little

i6o THE WONDERS OF

Edward begged for juicy apples, and for
salad of fresh sorrel leaves, — things which
were not to be found in all the land in the
dead of winter. But Coemgen the Abbot
trusted in the power of his young friend who
could tame wolves. "Go forth, my son,"
he said to Berach, " take my staff and bring
what the boy needs."

Then Berach retired to his cell and prayed
that he might be blessed to save the dear
child's life. After that with faith and cour-
age he went out into the white meadows,
using the Abbot's staff to help him over the
great drifts of snow. He came to the row
of willows by the frozen brook where the
cows had loved to wade. And here he
paused. Lifting the staff, he touched the
bare brown branches of the willow on which
the snow clung like shreds of cotton wool,
and he pronounced a blessing. Instantly the
snow began to melt as it does before the sun
in April. The stiff brown twigs turned green
and became tender and full of life. Then
gray willow buds put forth woolly little
pussy-willows, which seemed fairly bursting,
like fat round kittens. They grew bigger

SAINT BERACH i6i

and bigger, rounder and rounder, till at last
they really did burst, and plumped great
rosy-cheeked apples into the lap of the Saint,
who held up the skirt of his gray gown to
catch them as they fell. Lo, under the trees
meanwhile the snowdrifts had melted, and
little green leaves were poking up through
the frozen ground. And Berach gathered
there a great bunch of juicy, tart sorrel which
makes such good salad. Then with his
arms full, — what with this and his apples
and the blessed staff, — he floundered back
through the snowdrifts to the monastery.
They received him eagerly and there was
great rejoicing. Little Edward was revived
by the out-of-season dainties thus miracu-
lously provided for him, and soon became
quite well again.

It was many years after this, again a hard
and cruel winter, when Saint Berach made
another wonder come to pass. Meantime
he had grown older and even wiser. He had
himself been made Abbot and had built a
monastery of his own in a lonely place far
away from Glendalough. But he had an
enemy. There was a rich man who wanted

1 62 THE WONDERS OF

the land which Berach had chosen, and who
was so envious that he tried to do him spite
in every way he could. He even sought
to destroy the monastery. Then Berach ap-
pealed to the King for protection, and both
men were summoned to the court.

The rich man went in a chariot, splendid
in his fine robes of fur, with a gold chain
about his neck. And the guards hurried to
let down the portcullis for him, and with low
bows bade him enter. But when Saint Be-
rach came he wore only his gray monk's robe,
all torn and tattered. He was shivering with
cold, and weak from having walked so far.
So they thought him a mere beggar and
would not let him in. As he stood outside
the gate, friendless and alone, some rude boys
who had gathered there began to laugh and
jeer at his bare sandaled feet and the rents
in his robe through which the cold winds
blew. They made snowballs and rushed
upon him in a crowd, like the cowards they
were, pelting the poor man most cruelly.
But suddenly, what do you think ? Their
arms stiffened as they raised them to throw
the balls ; their legs stuck fast in the snow ;

SAINT BERACH 163

the grins froze on their faces ; and they were
almost choked by the shouts which turned
to ice in their throats. What had happened ?
Well, Saint Berach had merely breathed
upon them, and they were as if turned into
ice, so that they could not stir. Br-r-r I
How cold they were I

Then the Saint made ready to warm him-
self A drift of snow had fallen from the
palace gate when it opened to let in the rich
man. And going up to this he blew upon
it. He blew a warm breath this time. In-
stantly the whole heap burst into flame, and
snapped and crackled like the fire in the
chimney-place of the dining-hall at home.
In front of this merry blaze the good Saint
stood, warming his hands and thawing out
his poor frozen feet. But the group of boys
stood like statues of snow ; so cold, so cold,
but unable to come nearer to the fire; so
frightened, so frightened, but unable to run
away.

This is what the King's guards saw when,
terrified by the crackling of the fire and the
great light which shone through the chinks
of the gate, they came to see what it all

1 64 THE WONDERS OF

meant. They ran to the King and told him
of the strange sight. And he himself with a
crowd of courtiers came out to look. When
he saw the ragged beggar who had done all
this he was filled with amazement. He im-
mediately suspected that this must be a holy
man and powerful. So he invited Berach
into the palace hall, and there listened to his
story.

Now when all was done the rich man was
bundled away in disgrace, for daring to med-
dle with the good works of so wonderful a
Saint. But Berach was honored and admired.

Before he went back to his monastery they
begged him to restore the naughty boys to
life and motion. Now Berach had wanted
only to teach them a lesson, not to punish
them too severely; for he was too kind-
hearted to injure any Hving creature. So
going out into the courtyard he blew upon
the snow figures, and once more they be-
came live boys. You can imagine how
glad they were when they found they were
able to move their legs and arms again.

Now Berach went back to his monastery
in one of the King's chariots, with a robe of

SAINT BERACH 165

fur and a gold chain about his neck. And
you may be sure he carried with him many
other gifts and precious things from the
King, who never thereafter suffered him to
be troubled in his far-off retreat.

SAINT PRISCA, THE
CHILD MARTYR t t

SAINT PRISCA'S name has always
been dearly loved, especially in Eng-
land. January eighteenth is the day
which is sacred to her, and she lived over
seventeen hundred years ago. She is one of
the few child-martyrs whose names have come
down to us from those early days, although
there were many other brave children who
suffered and were strong, and who, at last,
gave their lives to prove their faith.

Saint Prisca was a little Roman girl whose
parents were Christians of a noble family.
Claudius was the Emperor at that time, and
though during his reign the Christians were
not persecuted in such numbers as they had
been before that, still many cruel things were
done here and there, and it was a dangerous
thing to be a Christian.

It was in the evil times when one did not
always dare to say what he really thought,
nor publicly to worship as he believed was
right. Many of the Christians were not
ashamed to conceal their real belief from the

THE CHILD MARTYR 167

heathen Romans, who were everywhere seek-
ing with hatred for the followers of Christ, to
torture and slay them.

Prisca's father and mother had managed to
keep their secret, and were not suspected of
being Christians. They probably went to
church in the secret chapels which the Chris-
tians had dug deep in the ground under the
city. In these dark, gloomy catacombs, as
they were called, the Christians held services
directly under the feet of the cruel Romans,
who were passing overhead without suspect-
ing what was going on so near to them.

But Prisca scorned to use any precaution.
Small and defenseless though she was, she
did not fear to tell every one what she be-
lieved and Whose Cross she followed. So
she soon became known as a firm little Chris-
tian maiden. And there were people in the
city cruel enough and wicked enough to hate
even a little child-Christian and to wish her
evil.

These persons reported to the Emperor's
officers her brave words of faith, and told
them how she would not sacrifice to the
Roman gods as the other children did. So

1 68 SAINT PRISCA

very soon she was seized by the guards and
brought before the Emperor.

Claudius looked at the Httle maid in sur-
prise to find her so young. And he thought :
" Ho I I shall easily make this small Chris-
tian change her mind and obey me." And
he bade his men take her to the temple of
Apollo and make her offer incense to the
beautiful god of the silver bow. So they car-
ried her to the top of the Palatine, one of the
seven hills on which Rome was built.

They first passed under a great marble
arch and came into a fair courtyard sur-
rounded by fifty-two marble pillars. In the
centre of this space stood the temple of
Apollo, the most magnificent building in all
Rome. With its ivory gates and wonderful
groups of statues, its inlaid marble floors and
altars wreathed with flowers, its golden tri-
pods breathing incense, its lamps and beauti-
ful silver vases, it was a very different place
from the bare, dark caverns in which the
Christians worshiped. In front of the temple
was a group of four oxen made of bronze,
and in the centre of this group burned a fire
upon a golden tripod. This was the altar to

THE CHILD MARTYR 169

SAINT PRISCA

Apollo, the sun-god, whose enormous golden
statue. In his four-horse chariot, stood over
the door of the temple just above. He was
the likeness of a beautiful youth with a

lyo SAINT PRISCA

wreath of bay about his head, carrying a bow
in his hand, with which Apollo was believed
to shoot the sunbeams down upon the earth.

They thrust incense into Pri sea's hand and
bade her throw a few grains into the fire in
honor of the beautiful god of the sun. It
seemed a very simple thing to do, to save
her life, — just to scatter a handful of dark
powder on the flames. Prisca loved the dear
sun as well as any one, but she knew it was
foolish to believe that he was a god, and
wicked to worship his statue in place of the
great God who made the sun and everything
else. So Prisca refused to burn the incense.

Then the Emperor was very angry, and
bade the soldiers whip her until she obeyed
his command. But they could not make her
yield by cruelty. Even the hard-hearted Ro-
mans who had come to look on admired her
bravery and pitied her suffering. The women
wept to see her so cruelly treated, and the
men cried, " Shame ! shame I to torture a
little child."

And then a beautiful thing happened ; for
Prisca appeared dressed in a robe of yellow
sunshine. A wonderful light shone all abouf

THE CHILD MARTYR 171

her, and she seemed herself a little star giv-
ing out light, so brightly did her brave spirit
shine among those cruel men.

It seemed as if no child could bear all this
suffering without yielding, and the Emperor
hoped she would give in, for he did not want
to have her killed. But Prisca was firm, and
would not make the sacrifice. The Emperor
was surprised to find a child so brave. He
ordered them to drag her away to prison and
to keep her there for many days. Here she
was most unhappy, — lonely and cold and
hungry often, wondering what dreadful thing
was to happen next. But her heart was al-
ways brave, and she was not afraid.

After a long time, one morning the guard
came for little Prisca. They led her forth
into the dear sunshine, and glad she was to
see it and the blue sky once more. But it
was only for a short time that they let her
enjoy even this little pleasure ; for they
brought her to the amphitheatre, a great open
place like the circus, with tiers upon tiers of
seats all about, and crowds of faces looking
down into the centre where she was.

Prisca knew what this meant, for she had

172 SAINT PRISCA

often heard how the Christians were put Into
the arena to be torn in pieces by wild beasts.
And kneehng down on the sand she made a
little prayer, not that she might be saved from
the fierce beasts, but that she might have
courage to show her Christian bravery and
teach a lesson to these fiercer men and women
who were looking on.

Then the keeper opened the grated door
of a den at the end of the arena, and out
stalked a great yellow lion. With a dreadful
roar he rushed into the centre of the circle,
and stood there lashing his tail and flashing
his big yellow eyes all about the place. Then
suddenly he spied the little girl standing
quietly at one side with her hands clasped in
front of her, looking at him without fear.
And the great beast strode gently up to her
on his padded paws. He bent his head and
licked her little bare feet, and then he
crouched down by her side, as a Saint Ber-
nard dog might place himself to guard his
little mistress. And this is why the old pic-
tures of Saint Prisca represent her with a lion
by her side.

There fell a great silence on the tented

THE CHILD MARTYR 173

place. The Emperor and all the people sat
perfectly still, wondering at the strange sight
and admiring the courage of the child ; for
she had reached out her hand and was strok-
ing the yellow head of the lion, playing with
his mane. She bent her head and no one
heard her whisper into his ear : —

" My good friend ! you will not hurt me,
I know, for the Lord has closed your mouth,
just as he did the mouths of the lions into
whose den Daniel was thrown by wicked
men. These cruel men will put me to death,
but you are kinder than they."

And the lion looked up in her face as
though he understood, and growled softly.
He was quite gentle with her, but when the
keeper came towards them he roared and
bristled and showed his great teeth, so that
for a long time no one dared to come near.

But even the lion could not save her from
the death which she had no wish to shun.
At last they captured him and took him
away. The Emperor's heart was softened by
Prisca's bravery, and he wished to give her
one more chance to save her life. They shut
her up for many days in the heathen temple.

174 SAINT PRISCA

and tried in every way to make her sacrifice
to the gods and give up Christianity. They
coaxed her and made her fine promises ; they
threatened and punished her. But still Prisca
stood firm, although she was now very worn
and tired and ill because she had suffered so
much.

So when she had borne it all patiently and
bravely, and they saw it was impossible to
make a little Christian turn back again into
a little heathen, they led her away down the
road which leads south from the Palatine
hill, to the place of execution. This was just
outside the Ostian gate, an archway in the
great wall which surrounded Rome, through
which the road led to the town of Ostium
and to the sea. Just outside this gate, to
show that they were no longer worthy of
being Romans and living within its walls,
criminals were executed. And here many
Christian martyrs lost their lives. Prisca was
one of these, for here she was beheaded.
And till the very end she neither cried nor
screamed nor was in any way afraid. And so
she became Saint Prisca, a little martyr.

Then another strange thing befell. When

THE CHILD MARTYR 175

she died a great eagle appeared in the sky,
hovering over Saint Prisca's body far up in
the air. And when any of the Romans ven-
tured near her the eagle swooped down upon
them with dreadful cries and flapping of his
wings. And his round gray eyes looked so
fierce and his claws so long and sharp, that no
one dared to touch her for fear of the bird.
Saint Prisca had found another protector in
cruel Rome. And this is why many of the
old pictures of Saint Prisca's martyrdom show
a great eagle hovering over her.

The creature guarded her body night and
day, driving every one away, until the Chris-
tians, who had been waiting for the chance
to venture out, came secretly one night and
carried her away. They buried her where the
Romans could not find her, in their little
secret cemetery in the catacombs. This is
how Saint Prisca lived and died two hundred
and seventy years after Christ's birth. But I
wish we knew what became of the noble lion
and the devoted eagle.

THE FISH WHO HELPED
SAINT GUDWALL t t t

THE Welsh coast is famous for its
beautiful scenery and its terrible
storms. People who see it in the
summer time think only of the beautiful
scenery. But if they should happen to pass
that way in midwinter they would be very
apt to meet an unpleasant reminder of the
terrible storms.

Saint Gudwall was born a Welshman, and
he should have known all this. Perhaps he
did know, but chose to run into danger just
because it was dangerous, as so many saints
loved to do in those years when it was
thought no virtue to take care of one's life.
At all events, it was summer when with one
friend Gudwall moved to his new home, a
tiny island off the coast of Wales, which at
that time was very beautiful.

The first thing they did was to set about
finding a place to live in. The island was
one of those high mountains poking up out
of the sea, with green grass on top, like col-
ored frosting to a cake; and gray rocks

SAINT GUDWALL 177

below, all hollowed out into deep caves and
crannies, as if mice had been nibbling at the
cake. These caves are just the sort of places
which smugglers and pirates choose to hide
in with their treasures, for no one would
think of hunting for any one there. And
Gudwall wanted to be left alone with his
pupil ; so he thought there was no reason
why a bad man's hiding-place should not
make a good saint's retreat. So they chose
the largest and deepest of all the caves, and
there they put their books and their beds
and their little furniture, and set up house-
keeping.

Their home was one of those caves into
which the sea rushes a little way and then
suddenly backs out again as if it had changed
its mind this time but would call again.
Gudwall and his pupil loved to lie in their
cave just beyond the reach of the waves and
watch them dash laughingly up on the rocks,
then roar and gurgle in pretended anger and
creep away out into the blue basin beyond.
In summer their daily games with the sea
were great fun, and Gudwall was very happy.
They spent some lovely months alone with

178 THE FISH WHO HELPED

the waves and the rocks and the sea-birds
which now and then fluttered screaming into
the dark cave, and then again dashed bash-
fully out when they found they had come
uninvited into a stranger's home. It was all
very nice and peaceful and pretty in the
summer time, just as tourists find it to this
day.

But oh I what a change when old Winter
came roaring down over the waves from the
North in his chariot of ice, drawn by fierce
winds and angry storm-clouds. Then the
temper of the sea was changed. It grew
cruel and hungry. It left off its kindly
game with the lonely dwellers on the island,
and seemed instead to have become their
enemy. It tried to seize and swallow them
in its cruel jaws.

One morning there came a terrible storm.
In the far end of the cave Gudwall and the
other were nearly swept away by a huge
wave which rushed in to devour them. No
longer content with pausing on the threshold,
the sea swept through their whole house,
dashing away their little store of books and
furniture, a most unneighborly thing to do.

SAINT GUDWALL 179

It tried to drag the two men from the corner
where they clung to the rough rock. Choked
and gasping they escaped this time, while
the sea drew back for another plunge. But
they did not wait for this, for they knew it
would mean their death.

Drenched as they were and blinded by
the salt spray, they scrambled out of the
cave and began to climb the slippery sea-
weed to the rocks above. It was a hard and
dangerous ascent, for the sea leaped after
them to pull them back, snarling angrily at
their heels like a fierce beast maddened by
their escape. But it could not quite seize
them, and at last they reached the top of the
chfF where they were safe for the time.

But what were they to do now ? There
were no houses on the island, no place to
go to keep warm ; yet they could not live
out in the open air to freeze in the snow
and cold. It was no longer possible to live
in the cave if the sea was to wash through
it like this. But if only there were some bar-
rier to keep out the stormy waves they could
still live in their beloved cave. Saint Gud-
wall fell upon his knees and prayed for help.

i8o THE FISH WHO HELPED

— prayed for some defense against the win-
ter waves.

And what do you think happened? The
dwellers in the sea were kinder than the sea
itself The little fish who live safely in the
angriest waves were sorry for the big men
who were so powerless in the face of this
danger. From the sea caves far under the
island's foot, from the beds of seaweed and
the groves of coral, from the sandy bottom
of the ocean fathoms deep below, the fish
came swimming in great shoals about Gud-
wall's island. And each one bore in his
mouth a grain of sand. They swam into the
shallow water just outside the cave where
Gudwall had lived, and one by one they
placed their burdens on the sandy bottom.
One by one they paused to see that it was
well done, then swiftly swam away, to return
as soon as might be with another grain of
sand. All day long a procession of fish, like
people in line at a ticket office, moved stead-
ily up to the shallows and back again. So
by night a little bar of sand had begun to
grow gradually before the entrance to the
cave.

SAINT GUDWALL i8i

Now Saint Gudwall and his pupil were
shivering on the top of the cHfF, and looking
off to sea, when the pupil caught his master's
arm. " What is that down there in the
water ? " he said, pointing to a little brown
spot peering above the waves.

'' I know not," answered the Saint ; " what
seems it to be, brother ? "

" I have been watching it," said the other,
" and I think it grows. Look I it is even
now higher than when first you looked ; is it
not so?"

And sure enough. Gudwall saw that ever
so little at a time the brown patch was grow-
ing and spreading from right to left. Grain
by grain the sand bar rose higher and higher
till it thrust bravely above the blueness a
solid wall extending for some distance
through the water in front of the cave.
Against this new breakwater the surf roared
and foamed in terrible rage, but it could not
pass, it could no longer swoop down into the
cavern as it had done before.

'' The Lord has given us a defense," said
Gudwall with a thankful heart. And then
his eye caught sight of a great bluefish swim-

1 82 THE FISH WHO HELPED

ming back into the deep sea. " It is the fish
who have built us the wall," he cried.
"Blessed be the fish who have this day
helped us in our need."

For the fish had piled up a stout and last-
ing barrier between Saint Gudwall and the
angry sea, and thenceforth he could live in
his cave safely during both summer and
winter.

A

THE BALLAD OF SAINT
GILES AND THE DEER

LL in the forest far away

Where no one ever came,
There dwelt a good man, old and

gray,—
Saint Giles the hermit's name.

His forest home a rocky cave

Beneath an aspen tree ;
And for his friend Saint Giles did have

A Deer, who wandered free.

A gentle red and mottled Deer
Who made her home close by,

Who at his call came without fear.
Forgetting to be shy.

Sure never all in lovely France

Was there a Deer so tame ;
Ah, but to see her start and prance

When he would call her name I

She gave him milk, his simple fare,
And browsed upon the green,

l4 BALLAD OF SAINT GILES

Ah, such a gentle, loving pair
I wis was never seen.

And he was happy in his cell,

And joyous 'neath his trees,
Content with woodland beasts to dwell,

His only neighbors these.

The wood was dark, the wood was grim,

And never till one day
Had human voices troubled him.

Or world-folk passed that way.

But on a dewy springtime morn
When April climbed the hill,

There came the wind of silver horn,
Halloos and whistles shrill;

The galloping of horses' feet.

The bloody bay of hounds.
Broke through the forest silence sweet

And echoed deadly sounds.

Saint Giles sat in his lonely cell,
Whenas the rout drew nigh ;

But at the noise his kind heart fell
And sorrow dimmed his eye.

AND THE DEER 185

He loved not men who hunt to kill.

Loved not the rich and grand,
For in those days the Pagans still

Held lordship in the land.

But scarcely had he reached the door

And seized his staff of oak.
When like a billow with a roar

The chase upon him broke.

With one last hope of dear escape.

Into the open space
Bounded a light and graceful shape.

The quarry of the chase.

All flecked with foam, all quivering

With weariness and fear.
Crouched at his feet the hunted thing,

His gentle friend, the Deer.

Behind her bayed the pack of hounds,
Their cruel teeth gleamed white,

Nearing with eager leaps and bounds ;
He turned sick at the sight.

Saint Giles looked down upon the Deer,
Saint Giles looked up again.

1 86 BALLAD OF SAINT GILES

He saw the danger drawing near,
The death, with all its pain.

He laid his hand upon her head.
The soft head of his friend, —

" And shall I let thee die ? " he said,
" And watch thy hapless end *? "

He stooped and gently murmured, " Nay !

Stroking her mottled side.
He stepped before her where she lay ;

" They slay me first I " he cried.

Her frightened eyes looked up at him,

Her little heart beat high.
She trembled sore in every limb, —

The bushes parted nigh.

" Halloo ! Halloo ! " the huntsmen cried
As through the hedge they burst ;

An archer all in green espied
The crouching quarry first.

Swift as a thought his arrow flew.
Saint Giles threw out his arm.

Alack ! the aim was all too true,
Saint Giles must bear the harm.

AND THE DEER 187

The arrow pierced too well, too well ;

All in that mournful wood
Saint Giles upon the greensward fell,

And dyed it with his blood.

He fell, but falling laid his hand

Upon the trembling Deer, —
'' My life for hers, dost understand ? "

He cried so all could hear.

Now as upon the green he lay

All in a deathly swound,
The King dashed up with courtiers gay

And looked upon his wound ;

The King rode up, and " Ho ! " he cried,
" Whom find we in our wood ?

Who spares the deer with mottled hide ?
Who sheds an old man's blood*? "

The King looked down with ruthful eye

When all the thing was told,
" Alack I " he cried, " he must not die.

So kind a man and bold.

'' Bear me the Saint into his cave ;
Who falls to save his friend

1 88 BALLAD OF SAINT GILES

Deserves for leech his King to have ;
I will his pallet tend."

They spared to him the sore-bought Deer ;

And in that lowly cell
For many weary days and drear

The King came there to dwell.

The King, who was a godless man,

A pagan, heart and soul.
Played nurse until the wound began

To heal, and Giles was whole.

But in the little forest cave

The King learned many things

Known to the meanest Christian slave,
But secrets from the kings.

For good Saint Giles had won his heart

By his brave deed and bold.
And ere the great King did depart

His Christian faith he told.

And while the red Deer stood beside.
The King gave Giles his word

That e'er a Christian he would bide.
And keep what he had heard.

AND THE DEER 189

And so the monarch rode away

And left the two alone.
Saint Giles a happy man that day.

The good Deer still his own.

Safe from the eager hunting horde
The Saint would keep his friend,

Protected by the King's own word
Thenceforth unto the end.

For unmolested in his cell.

Careless of everything
Giles with his friendly Deer could dwell

Liege to a Christian King.

THE WOLF-MOTHER OF
SAINT AILBE t t t t t

THIS is the story of a poor little Irish
baby whose cruel father and mother
did not care anything about him.
But because they could not sell him nor give
him away they tried to lose him. They
wrapped him in a piece of cloth and took
him up on the mountain side, and there they
left him lying all alone on a bush of heather.

Now an old mother wolf was out taking
her evening walk on the mountain after
tending her babies in the den all day. And
just as she was passing the heather bush she
heard a faint, funny little cry. She pricked
up her pointed ears and said, " What 's that ! "
And lo and behold, when she came to sniff
out the mystery with her keen nose, it led
her straight to the spot where the little pink
baby lay, crying with cold and hunger.

The heart of the kind mother wolf was
touched, for she thought of her own little
ones at home, and how sad it would be to
see them so helpless and lonely and forgotten.
So she picked the baby up in her mouth

SAINT AILBE 191

carefully and ran home with him to her den
in the rocks at the foot of the mountain.
Here the Httle one, whose name was Ailbe,
lived with the baby wolves, sharing their
breakfast and dinner and supper, playing
and quarreling and growing up with them.
The wolf-mother took good care of him and
saw that he had the best of everything, for
she loved him dearly indeed. And Ailbe
grew stronger and stronger, taller and taller,
handsomer and handsomer every day, living
his happy life in the wild woods of green
Ireland.

Now one day, a year or two after this, a
hunter came riding over the mountain on
his way home from the chase, and he hap-
pened to pass near the cave where Ailbe and
the wolves lived. As he was riding along
under the trees he saw a little white creature
run across the path in front of him. At first
he thought it was a rabbit ; but it was too
big for a rabbit, and besides it did not hop.
The hunter jumped down from his horse and
ran after the funny animal to find out what
it was. His long legs soon overtook it in a
clump of bushes where it was hiding, and

192 THE WOLF-MOTHER OF

imagine the hunter's surprise when he found
that it had neither fur nor horns nor four feet
nor a tail, but that it was a beautiful child
who could not stand upright, and whose
little bare body ran on all-fours like a baby
wolf I It was little Ailbe, the wolf-mother's
pet, who had grown so fast that he was
almost able to take care of himself But he
was not quite able, the hunter thought ; and
he said to himself that he would carry the
poor little thing home to his kind wife, that
she might take care of him. So he caught
Ailbe up in his arms, kicking and squealing
and biting like the wild little animal he was,
and wrapped him in a corner of his great
cloak. Then he jumped on his horse with a
chirrup and galloped away out of the woods
towards his village.

But Ailbe did not want to leave his forest
home, the wolf-den, and his little wolf bro-
thers. Especially he did not want to leave
his dear foster mother. So he screamed and
struggled to get away from the big hunter,
and he called to the wolves in their own
language to come and help him. Then out
of the forest came bounding the great mother

SAINT AILBE 193

wolf with her four children, now grown to
be nearly as big as herself She chased after
the fleeting horse and snapped at the loose
end of the huntsman's cloak, howling with
grief and anger. But she could not catch
the thief, nor get back her adopted son, the
little smooth-skinned foundling. So after fol-
lowing them for miles, the five wolves grad-
ually dropped further and further behind.
And at last, as he stretched out his little arms
to them over the hunter's velvet shoulder,
Ailbe saw them stop in the road panting,
with one last howl of farewell. They had
given up the hopeless chase. And with their
tails between their legs and their heads droop-
ing low they slunk back to their lonely den
where they would never see their little boy
playmate any more. It was a sad day for
good wolf-mother.

But the hunter carried little Ailbe home
with him on the horse's back. And he found
a new mother there to receive him. Ailbe
never knew who his first mother was, but
she must have been a bad, cruel woman.
His second mother was the kind wolf And
this one, the third, was a beautiful Princess.

194 THE WOLF-MOTHER OF

For the hunter who had found the child was
a Prince, and he Uved in a grand castle by a
lake near Tipperary, with hundreds of ser-
vants and horses and dogs and little pages
for Ailbe to play with. And here he lived
and was very happy ; and here he learned
all the things which in those days made a
little boy grow up into a wise and great man.
He grew up so wise and great that he was
made a Bishop and had a palace of his own
in the town of Emly. People came to see
him from far and near, who made him pre-
sents, and asked him questions, and ate his
dinners.

But though he had grown so great and
famous Ailbe had never forgotten his second
mother, the good wolf, nor his four-footed
brothers, in their coats of gray fur. And
sometimes when his visitors were stupid and
stayed a long time, or when they asked too
many questions, or when they made him pre-
sents which he did not like, Ailbe longed
to be back in the forest with the good beasts.
For they had much more sense, though they
had never kissed the Blarney Stone, which
makes one talk good Irish.

SAINT AILBE 195

A great many years afterwards there was
one day a huge hunt in Emly. All the lords
for miles around were out chasing the wild
beasts, and among them was the Prince,
Ailbe's foster-father. But the Bishop him-
self was not with them. He did not see any
sport in killing poor creatures. It was almost
night, and the people of Emly were out
watching for the hunters to return. The
Bishop was coming down the village street
on his way from church, when the sound of
horns came over the hills close by, and he
knew the chase was nearing home.

Louder and louder came the "tantara-
tara I " of the horns, and then he could hear
the gallopy thud of the horses' hoofs and the
yelp of the hounds. But suddenly the Bish-
op's heart stood still. Among all the other
noises of the chase he heard a sound which
made him think — think — think. It was
the long-drawn howl of a wolf, a sad howl
of fear and weariness and pain. It spoke a
language which he had almost forgotten.
But hardly had he time to think again and
to remember, before down the village street
came a great gaunt figure, flying in long

196 THE WOLF-MOTHER OF

leaps from the foremost dogs who were snap-
ping at her heels. It was Ailbe's wolf-mother.

He recognized her as soon as he saw her
green eyes and the patch of white on her
right foreleg. And she recognized him, too,
— how I cannot say, for he had changed
greatly since she last saw him, a naked little
sunbrowned boy. But at any rate, in his
fine robes of purple and linen and rich lace,
with the mitre on his head and the crozier
in his hand, the wolf-mother knew her dear
son. With a cry of joy she bounded up to
him and laid her head on his breast, as if she
knew he would protect her from the growl-
ing dogs and the fierce-eyed hunters. And
the good Bishop was true to her. For he
drew his beautiful velvet cloak about her
tired, panting body, and laid his hand lov-
ingly on her head. Then in the other he
held up his crook warningly to keep back
the ferocious dogs.

" I will protect thee, old mother," he said
tenderly. " When I was little and young
and feeble, thou didst nourish and cherish
and protect me ; and now that thou art old
and gray and weak, shall I not render the

SAINT AILBE 197

same love and care to thee ? None shall
injure thee."

Then the hunters came tearing up on their
foaming horses and stopped short to find
what the matter was. Some of them were
angry and wanted even now to kill the poor
wolf, just as the dogs did who were prowling
about snarling with disappointment. But
Ailbe would have none of it. He forbade
them to touch the wolf And he was so
powerful and wise and holy that they dared
not disobey him, but had to be content with
seeing their hunt spoiled and their prey taken
out of their clutches.

But before the hunters and their dogs
rode away, Saint Ailbe had something more
to say to them. And he bade all the curious
townsfolk who had gathered about him and
the wolf to listen also. He repeated the
promise which he had made to the wolf, and
warned every one thenceforth not to hurt her
or her children, either in the village, or in
the woods, or on the mountain. And turn-
ing to her once more he said : —

" See, mother, you need not fear. They
dare not hurt you now you have found your

198 SAINT AILBE

son to protect you. Come every day with
my brothers to my table, and you and yours
shall share my food, as once I so often shared
yours."

And so it was. Every day after that so
long as she lived the old wolf-mother brought
her four children to the Bishop's palace and
howled at the gate for the porter to let them
in. And every day he opened to them, and
the steward showed the five into the great
dining hall where Ailbe sat at the head of
the table, with five places set for the rest of
the family. And there with her five dear
children about her in a happy circle the kind
wolf-mother sat and ate the good things
which the Bishop's friends had sent him.
But the child she loved best was none of
those in furry coats and fine whiskers who
looked like her; it was the blue-eyed Saint
at the top of the table in his robes of purple
and white.

But Saint Ailbe would look about him at
his mother and his brothers and would laugh
contentedly.

" What a handsome family we are I " he
would say. And it was true.

SAINT RIGOBERT S
DINNER t t t t t t

SAINT RIGOBERT was hungry. He
had eaten nothing that morning, nei-
ther had little Pierre, his serving lad,
who trotted along before him on the road to
Rheims. They were going to visit Wibert,
the Deputy-Governor of Rheims, to pay him
some money which the Bishop owed, — all
the money which he had in the world. And
that is why they had nothing left to buy
them a breakfast, and why little Pierre gazed
into the bakers' shops so hungrily and licked
his lips as they passed. Good Saint Rigobert
did not see the windows of buns and tarts
and pasties as they went along, for his eyes
were bent upon the ground and he was sing-
ing hymns over to himself under his breath.
Still, he too was very faint.

Saint Rigobert was poor. He was a good
old Bishop ; but the King of France did not
love him, and had sent him away from the
court and the big, rich city to live among
the poor folk in the country. Saint Rigobert
did not mind this very much, for he loved

200 SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

the pretty little village of Gemicour where
he lived. He loved the people who dwelled
there, too; and especially he loved Pierre,
who had come to his home to be his little
page and helper.

The people of the village meant to be
kind and generous ; but they were mostly
stupid folk who saw only what was in front
of their noses. And they did not guess how
very poor their dear Bishop was. They
were poor, too, and had to be careful of
their little bits of money. But they all had
vegetables and milk and eggs and butter,
and if every one had helped a little, as they
ought, — for he was always doing kind things
for them, — Saint Rigobert would not have
gone hungry so often.

It made the Bishop sorry to find them so
careless, but he never complained. He
would not tell them, nor beg them to help
him, and often even little Pierre did not
know how long he fasted. For he would
give the boy all the supper and keep none
himself But he was always cheery and con-
tented. He always had a kind word for the
people as he passed them on the street. And

SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER 201

when he went to the big town of Rheims
near by he never complained to the Gov-
ernor there about what a poor, miserable
parish he lived in, or how little the people
of Gernicour did for their Bishop. For he
liked to believe that they did the best they
could.

And that is why, when the two came into
Wibert's hall. Saint Rigobert paid the money
to the Governor without a word of his
hunger or his faintness. And even when he
saw the great table laid for dinner and the
smoking dishes brought in by a procession
of serving men, he turned away resolutely
and tried not to show how tempting the
good things looked and smelled. He gath-
ered up the folds of his robe, and taking his
Bishop's staff in his hand, rose to go back to
Gernicour and his dinnerless house. But as
they were leaving the hall, Pierre trailing
out very reluctantly with many a backward
look, Wibert the governor called them back.
Perhaps he had seen the longing in the eyes
of Httle Pierre as the great haunch of venison
was set on the board. Perhaps he had no-
ticed how pale and hollow Saint Rigobert's

202 SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

cheeks were, and half guessed the cause. At
all events he said kindly : —

" I pray thee, stay and dine with us, thou
and the boy yonder. See, the meat is ready,
and there is room for many more at table."

But Saint Rigobert had a service to hold
in the church at Gernicour, and knew they
had barely time to reach home if they walked
briskly. Besides, he was too proud to accept
charity, and for the sake of his people he feared
to let the Governor see how very hungry he
was.

" Nay," he answered gently," I thank thee
for thy courtesy, friend Wibert. But we
may not tarry. The time scants us for a
dinner before the service in the church at
Gernicour, and we must hasten or we be late.
Come, lad, we must be stirring anon."

Tears of disappointment were standing in
Pierre's eyes, he wanted so much to stay and
have some of that good dinner. But he
never thought of questioning his master's
commands. The Governor pressed them to
stay, but Rigobert was firm, and passed on
to the door, Pierre following sulkily behind.
But just as they reached the door there was

SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER 203

a commotion outside, and the sound of
quacking and men's laughter. And there
came in a serving man bearing in his arms
a great white goose, which was flapping his
wings and cackling hoarsely in fright.

" Ho, what have we here ? " said the Gov-
ernor crossly. " Why do you let such a
commotion into my hall, you fellow ? "

" Please you, sir," answered the serving
man as well as he could with the goose
struggling in his arms, " this goose is a tri-
bute from the widow Rene, and she begs your
Honor to accept him as a poor present."

" A poor present indeed," said the Gov-
ernor testily. "What do I want of the
creature ^ We have more fowls now than
we know what to do with. I wish him not."
Then an idea came into his head, and he
turned to Saint Rigobert. " Why, reverend
sir," he said laughing, "since you will not
stay to dine with me, I prithee take this fat
fellow home with you, for dinner in Gerni-
cour. 'T will be a good riddance for us, in
sooth."

Saint Rigobert hesitated. But seeing the
look of eagerness in Pierre's face he con-

204 SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

eluded to accept the gift, which was a com-
mon one enough in those days.

"Grammercy for your courtesy, Master
Wibert," he answered. " We take your
bounty of the fine goose, since it seemeth
that your tables have space for little more.
Now then, Pierre lad, take up thy prey.
And look he bite thee not," he added as the
boy made haste to seize the great struggling
bird.

The goose pecked and squawked and
flapped horribly while Pierre was getting his
arms about him. But finally they were ready
to start, Pierre going first with the goose
who was nearly as big as himself, and the
Bishop following grasping his staff, his eyes
bent upon the ground.

Pierre's heart was full of joy. He chuckled
and laughed and could hardly wait till they
should reach home, for thinking of the fine
dinner at the end of the road. But Saint Rigo-
bert had already forgotten the goose, he had
so many other things to think about. That
is the way he had taught himself to forget
how hungry he was — he just thought about
something else. But all on a sudden Rigo-

SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER 205

bert was startled by a great cackle and a
scream in front of him down the road. He
looked up just in time to see a big white
thing sailing away into the sky, and Pierre
hopping up and down in the road screaming
and crying.

The Bishop overtook the little fellow
quickly. "Lad, lad, hast thou lost thy
goose ? " he asked gently.

" Oh Father," sobbed the boy, " our nice
dinner ! Your dinner, master I The wicked
goose has flown away. Oh, what a careless
boy I am to let him 'scape me so I " And
he sat down on a stone and cried as if his
heart would break.

" Nay, nay," the good Bishop said, patting
him on the head soothingly, "perhaps the
poor goose did not want to be roasted, Pierre.
Can you blame him for seeking his liberty
instead? I find no fault with him; but I
am sorry for thy dinner, lad. We must try
to get something else. Cheer up, Pierre, let
the white goose go. All will yet be well,
lad."

He made Pierre get up, still crying bit-
terly, and on they trudged again along the

2o6 SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

dusty road. But this time there was no din-
ner for them to look forward to, and the way
seemed very long. Pierre dragged his feet
heavily, and it seemed as if he could not go
another step with that emptiness in his stom-
ach and the ache in his head. But again Saint
Rigobert began to hum his hymns softly
under his breath, keeping time to the beat of
his aged feet on the dusty road. The loss
of his dinner seemed to trouble him little.
Perhaps he was secretly glad that the poor
goose had escaped; for he was very tender-
hearted and loved not to have creatures
killed, even for food.

They had gone quite a little distance, and
Rigobert began to sing louder and louder
as they neared his church. When suddenly
there came a strange sound in the air over
his head. And then with a great fluttering
a big white goose came circling down right
before Saint Rigobert's feet. The good Saint
stopped short in surprise, and Pierre, turning
about, could hardly believe his eyes. But
sure enough, there was the very same goose,
looking up into Saint Rigobert's face and
cackling as if trying to tell him something.

SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER 207

" I did n't mean to run away," he seemed
to say. " I did n't know you were hungry,
holy man, and that I was taking away your
dinner. Sing on and I will follow you
home."

Pierre turned and ran back to the goose
and would have seized him by the neck so
he could not get away again. But Saint
Rigobert held up his finger warningly, and
the boy stood still.

" Do not touch him, Pierre," said the
Bishop earnestly. " I do not think he will run
away. Let us see."

And sure enough, when they started on
once more. Saint Rigobert still singing softly,
Pierre, who kept glancing back, saw the
goose waddling slowly at his master's heels.
So the queer little procession came into
Gernicour; and every one stopped along the
streets with open mouths, wondering to see
them pass. At last they reached the Bish-
op's house. And there Rigobert ceased his
singing, and turning to the goose stroked his
feathers gently and said : —

" Good friend, thou hast been faithful.
Thou shalt be rewarded. Aye, ruffle up thy

2o8 SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

feathers, good goose, for they shall never be
plucked from thee, nor shalt thou be cooked
for food. Thou art my friend from to-day.
No pen shall hold thee, but thou shalt follow
me as thou wilt."

And the Saint kept his promise. For
after that the goose lived with him in hap-
piness and peace. They would take long
walks together in the fields about Gernicour.
They made visits to the sick and the sorrowful.
Indeed, wherever Saint Rigobert went the
goose followed close at his heels like a dog.
Even when Rigobert went again to see the
Governor of Rheims, the goose waddled all
the way there and back along the crooked
road over part of which he had gone that
first time in little Pierre's arms. And how
the Governor did laugh as he stood in his
door and watched the strange pair disappear
down the road.

"He could not have been very hungry
after all," the Governor thought, " or I should
never have seen that goose again." Which
shows how little even a Governor knows
about some things.

More than this, whenever Rigobert went to

SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER 209

hold service in his little church the goose
escorted him there also. But he knew better
than to go inside. He would wait by the
porch, preening his feathers in the sunshine
and snapping bugs in the grass of the church-
yard until his dear master came out. And
then he would escort him back home again.
He was a very well-mannered goose.

But dear me I All this time I have left
poor little Pierre standing with a quivering
chin outside the Bishop's door, hopeless of a
dinner. But it all came right, just as the
Bishop had said it would. I must tell you
about that. For when Rigobert returned
from church that same day feeling very faint
and hungry indeed, after the long walk and
the excitement of the goose-hap, Pierre came
running out to meet him with a smiling face.

'' Oh Father, Father I " he cried. " We are
to have a dinner, after all. Come quick, I
am so hungry I cannot wait ! The village
folk have heard about the pious goose who
came back to be your dinner, and how you
would not eat him. And so they have sent
us a basket of good things instead. And
they promise that never again so long as

2IO SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

they have anything to eat themselves shall
we be hungry any more. Oh Father ! I am
so glad we did not eat the goose."

And good Saint Rigobert laid his hand on
Pierre's head and said, " Dear lad, you will
never be sorry for showing kindness to a
friendly bird or beast." Then the goose
came quacking up to them and they all
three went into the house together to eat their
good, good dinner.

SAINT FRANCIS OF
ASSISI t t t t t t t

BAREFOOTED in the snow, bare-
headed in the rain, Saint Francis
wandered up and down the world
smiling for the great love that was in his
heart.

And because it grew from love the smile
of Saint Francis was a wonderful thing. It
opened the hearts of men and coaxed the
secrets of their thoughts. It led human folk
whithersoever Saint Francis willed. It drew
the beasts to his side and the birds to nestle
in his bosom. It was like a magic charm.

Great princes knew his smile and they
obeyed its command to be generous and
good. The sick and sorrowful knew his
smile. It meant healing and comfort. Then
they rose and blessed God in the name of
Saint Francis. The wretched beggars in the
streets of Assisi knew it. To them the smile
of " the Lord's own beggar " meant help and
sympathy. Like them he was poor and
homeless, often ill and hungry. They won-
dered that he could smile. But he said,

212 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSIST

" It does not become a servant of God to
have an air of melancholy and a face full of
trouble." So they also tried to smile, poor
fellows. But how different it was !

The little lambs to whom he gave his
special protection and care knew the smile
of Saint Francis. Once he met two woolly
lambkins who were being carried to market.
He never had any money, but taking off his
cloak, which was all he had to part with, he
gave it to buy their lives. And he carried
the lambs home in his bosom.

The wilder beasts beyond the mountains,
the fierce wolves and shy foxes of Syria and
Spain whom he met in his wanderings knew
Saint Francis. Here was a brother who was
not afraid of them and whom they could trust
in return, a brother who understood and
sympathized. The birds in the trees knew
also, and his coming was the signal of peace.
Then they sang with Francis, but he was the
sweetest singer of them all.

Besides these living things the green fields
of Italy, the trees, the meadows, the brooks,
the flowers all knew the smile of Saint
Francis. It meant to them many things

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 213

which only a poet can tell. But Francis un-
derstood, for he was a poet.

Upon all alike his face of love beamed
tenderly. For Saint Francis of Assisi was a
little brother of the whole great world and
of all created things. Not only did his heart
warm to Brother Sheep and Sister Bees, to
his Brother Fish and his little Sisters the
Doves, but he called the Sun and Wind
his brothers and the Moon and Water his
sisters. Of all the saints about whom the
legends tell, Francis was the gentlest and
most loving. And if

" He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small,"

the prayers of Saint Francis must have been
very dear to Him who " made and loveth all."

There was none so poor as Francis. Not
a penny did he have, not a penny would he
touch. Let them be given to those who
could not smile, he said. His food he begged
from door to door, broken crusts for a single
poor meal; more he would not take. His
sleeping place was the floor or the haymow,
the ruined church, whatever lodging chance

214 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

gave him. Oftenest he slept upon the bare
ground with a stone for his pillow. He
wanted to be poor because Christ was poor,
and he was trying to live like his Master.

In his coarse brown gown, tied about the
waist with a rope, without hat or shoes he
wandered singing, smiling. The love which
beamed from him like radiance from a star
shone back from every pair of eyes which
looked into his own. For all the world loved
Francis in the time of the Crusades. And
even to-day, seven hundred years since that
dear beggar passed cheerily up and down the
rough Italian roads, — even to-day there are
many who love him like a lost elder brother.

Saint Francis preached to all lessons of
charity and peace. His were simple words, for
he had not the wisdom of many books. But
he knew the book of the human heart from
cover to cover. His words were like fire,
they warmed and wakened. No one could
resist the entreaty and the love that was in
them. So thousands joined the Society of
Little Brothers of which he was the founder,
and became his helpers in works of charity
and holiness.

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 215

His church was out of doors in the beau-
tiful world that he loved, in mountain, field,
or forest, wherever he happened to be wan-
dering. Sometimes he preached by the
candle-light of stars. Often the cloistering
trees along the roadside made his chapel, and
the blue sky was the only roof between him
and heaven. Often his choir was of the bro-
ther birds in the branches and his congrega-
tion a group of brother beasts. For he
preached to them also who, though they
spoke a different language, were yet children
of his Father. And in his little talks to them
he always showed the courtesy which one
brother owes another.

Once, on returning from a journey beyond
the sea, he was traveling through the Vene-
tian country, when he heard a great congre-
gation of birds singing among the bushes.
And he said to his companion, " Our sisters,
the birds, are praising their Maker. Let
us then go into their midst and sing." So
they did this, and the birds did not fly away
but continued to sing so loudly that the
brothers could not hear each other. Then
Saint Francis turned to the birds and said

2i6 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

politely, "Sisters, cease your song until we
have rendered our bounden praise to God.'"
So the birds were still until the brothers had
finished their psalm. But after that when it
was again their turn the birds went on with
their song.

At another time when he was preaching
in the town of Alvia among the hills, the
swallows flew about and twittered so loudly
that the people could not hear Saint Francis'
voice. The birds did not mean to be rude,
however. So he turned to the swallows and
saluted them courteously. "My sisters," he
said, " it is now time that I should speak.
Since you have had your say, hsten now in
your turn to the word of God and be silent
till the sermon is finished." And again the
birds obeyed the smile and the voice of him
who loved them. Though whether they un-
derstood the grown-up sermon that followed^
I cannot tell.

But this is the little sermon which he made
one day for a congregation of birds who sat
around him in the bushes listening.

"Brother Bir.ds, greatly are ye bound to

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 217

praise the Creator who clotheth you with
feathers and giveth you wings to fly with
and a purer air to breathe ; and who careth
for you who have so Httle care for your-
selves."

It was not a long sermon, so the birds
could not have grown tired or sleepy, and I
am sure they understood every word. So
after he had given them his blessing he let
them go, and they went singing as he had
bidden them.

Saint Francis preached the lessons of
peace ; he would not have cruelty or blood-
shed among his human friends. And he also
taught his beasts to be kind. He loved best
the gentle lambs, one of which was almost
always with him, and in his sermons he would
point to them to show men what their lives
should be. But there is a story told of the
lesson he taught a wolf that shows what power
the Saint had over the fiercer animals. There
are many stories of wolves whom the saints
made tame. But this wolf of Saint Francis
was the most terrible of them all.

This huge and savage wolf had been caus-

21 8 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSIST

ing great horror to the people of Gubbio.
For in the night he not only stole sheep and
cows from the farms, but he came and car-
ried off men also for his dinner. So that peo-
ple were afraid to go out of the town for fear
of being gobbled up.

Now Saint Francis came. And he said, " I
will go out and seek this wolf" But the
townsfolk begged him not to go, for the good
man was dear to them and they feared never
to see him again. However, he was resolved
and went forth from the gate.

He had gone but a little way when out
rushed the wolf to meet him, with his mouth
wide open, roaring horribly. Then Saint
Francis made the sign of the cross and said
gently : —

" Come hither, Brother Wolf I command
thee in Christ's behalf that thou do no evil to
me nor to any one." And wonderful to say !
The wolf grew tame and came like a lamb
to lie at Saint Francis' feet.

Then Francis went on to rebuke him, say-
ing that he deserved to be hung for his many
sins, being a robber and a wicked murderer
of men and beasts.

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 219

*' But I wish, Brother Wolf," he said, " to
make peace between thee and men ; therefore
vex them no more and they will pardon thee
all thy past offenses, and neither dogs nor
men will chase thee any more."

At this the wolf wagged his tail and bowed
his head to show he understood. And putting
his right paw in the hand of Saint Francis he
promised never again to steal nor slay. Then
like a gentle dog he followed the holy man
to the market-place of the town, where great
crowds of people had gathered to see what
Saint Francis would do with the great beast,
their enemy, for they thought he was to be
punished. But Francis rose and said to
them : —

" Hearken, dear brethren : Brother Wolf
who is here before you has promised me that
he will make ^eace with you and will never
injure you in any way, if ye promise to give
him day by day what is needful for his dinner.
And I will be surety for him." Thereupon
with a great shout all the people promised
to give him his daily food. Again the wolf
wagged his tail, flapped his long ears, bowed
his head, and gave his paw to Saint Francis

220 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

to show that he would keep his word. All
the people saw him do this. And then there
were shouts of wonder you may be sure, and
great rejoicing because Saint Francis had
saved them from this cruel beast, and had
made a gentle friend of their dreaded enemy.
So after this the wolf lived two years at
Gubbio and went about from door to door
humbly begging his food like Saint Francis
himself He never harmed any one, not even
the little children who teased and pulled him
about. But all the people loved him and
gave him what he liked to eat; and not even
a dog would bark at his heels or growl at the
friend of Saint Francis. So he lived to a
good old age. And when after two years
Brother Wolf died because he was so old,
the citizens were very sorrowful. For not
only did they miss the soft pat-pat of his steps
passing through the city, but they grieved
for the sorrow of Saint Francis in losing a
kindly friend, — Saint Francis of whose saint-
liness and power the humble beast had been
a daily reminder.

Francis could not bear to see a little bro-

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 221

ther in trouble or pain, and this the beasts
knew very well. He would not willingly
tread upon an insect, but would step aside
and gently bid the Brother Worm depart in
peace. The fish which a fisherman gave him
he restored to the water, where it played
about his boat and would not leave him till
he bade it go.

Once again in the village of Gubbio a live
baby hare was brought him as a present, for
his breakfast. But when Francis saw the
frightened look of the little creature held in
the arms of one of the brothers, his heart
ached with sympathy.

" Little Brother Leveret, come to me," he
said. " Why hast thou let thyself be taken ? "
And the little fellow as if understanding the
invitation jumped out of the friar's arms and
ran to Francis, hiding in the folds of his
gown. But when Francis took it out and set
it free, very politely giving it permission to
depart instead of staying to make a breakfast,
it would not go. Again and again it returned
nestling to its new-found friend, as if guessing
that here at least it would be safe forever.
But at last tenderly Saint Francis sent the

222 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSIST

good brother away with it into the wood,
where it was safe once more among its Httle
bob-tailed brothers and sisters.

Now after a life spent like Christ's in works
of poverty, charity, and love, Saint Francis
came at last to have one spot in the world
which he could call his own. It was neither
a church nor a convent, a cottage nor even a
cell. It was only a bare and lonely mountain
top where wild beasts lived ,and wild birds
had a home. This retreat in the wilderness
was the gift which Orlando, a rich nobleman,
chose to make Saint Francis. And it was a
precious gift indeed, sorely needed by the
Lord's weary beggar. For he was worn with
wandering; he was ill and weak, and his
gentle eyes were growing dim so that he
could not go along the winding ways. But
he was happy still.

So one warm September day he went with
some of his chosen brethren to take posses-
sion of their new home. They left the vil-
lages, the farms, and at last even the scattered
shepherds' huts far below and behind them,
and came into the quiet of the Italian hills.

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 223

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

They climbed and climbed over the rocks
and along the ravines, till they came in sight
of the bald summit where Francis was to
dwell. And here in happy weariness he

224 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI

paused to rest under an oak-tree and look
about upon the beautiful scene.

But suddenly the air was filled with music,
a chorus of trills and quavers and carols of
the wildest joy. Then the air grew dark with
whirring wings. The birds of the mountain
were coming from everywhere to welcome
home their brother. They flew to him by
hundreds, perching on his head and shoul-
ders ; and when every other spot was covered
they twittered into the hood of his brown
mantle. The brothers stood about, wonder-
ing greatly, although they had seen Saint
Francis in some such plight before. But the
peasant who led the ass which had brought
Saint Francis so far stood like one turned to
stone, unable to believe his eyes. Here was
a miracle the like of which he had never
dreamed.

But Saint Francis was filled with gladness.
" Dearest brethren," he said, " I think it must
be pleasant to our Lord that we should dwell
in this solitary place, since our brothers and
sisters the birds are so glad of our coming."

And indeed, how could they help being
glad of his coming, the dear, kind Saint?

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI 225

And how they hovered around the shelter of
branches which the brethren built for him
under a beech-tree on the very mountain top !
One can picture them at morning, noon, and
night joining in his songs of praise, or keeping
polite silence while the holy man talked with
God.

Many wonderful things happened upon
the Monte Alverno while Saint Francis dwelt
there. But none were more wonderful than
the great love of Francis himself; his love
which was so big and so wide that it wrapped
the whole round world, binding all creatures
more closely in a common brotherhood.

So that every man and every bird and
every beast that lives ought to love the name
of that dear Saint, their childlike, simple,
happy little brother. Saint Francis of Assisi.

^ ^ ^

HERE
THE BOOK OF SAINTS
& FRIENDLY BEASTS

ENDS

A CALENDAR t t t

Here follow the Days of

the Saints and their

Beasts

t

Jan. 4.
Jan. 13.
Jan. 14.
Jan. 18.
Jan. 19.
Feb. 1.

Feb. 3.

Feb. 9.
Feb. 14.
March 5.
March 20.
April 14.
May 10.
June 6.
June 17.
August 1.
Sept. 1.
Sept. 12.
Oct. 4.

Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sai
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa
Sa

Rigobert.

Kentigern.

Felix.

Prisca.

Launomar.

Bridget.

Werburgh.

Blaise.

Athracta.

Berach.

Gerasimus.

Cuthbert.

Fronto.

Comgall.

Gudwall.

Herve.

Keneth.

Giles.

Ailbe.

Francis.

d)e EiljerfiiUe JJress

ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED

BY H. O. HOUGHTON & CO.

CAMBRIDGE, MASS.

U.S.A.

^-